#neversobad

Moondust by Jaymes Young

Hel looked up at Eros, across the rim of her teacup. The words startled her and she put her teacup back onto the table. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean,” she replied carefully. “What did I steal from you?”

It had been such a lovely day.  The fae had woken up to one of the first warm days in weeks, sunlight streaming through his windows as the dainty jingling of wind chimes rode the breeze.  Rarely awake before noon, and even rarer to be pleased with it, he hadn’t even bothered taming the wild bedhead that seemed to be a permanent issue with his newly shortened locks, simply rolled out of bed, pulled on a pair of pants, dove back onto the bed to throw pillows and blankets about until he located his phone, then meandered his way downstairs and out of the Tree to go find a nice patch of sun-warmed grass.  

A few hours later, sprawled out on his stomach in the middle of the clearing next to the Tree, flipping through his phone browser is when he feels it... a disturbance in The Force. A darkness approaches… he muses with a silent chuckle.  Not bothering to acknowledge the dryad’s presence, instead continuing to give his current internet search his full attention was perhaps where he went wrong.  He has milliseconds to consider his mistake, from the moment he realizes she has launched herself from the ground and become airborne, to the instant she slams onto his back like a cat pouncing onto a lizard who had been stupid enough to play dead instead of run.  As previously stated…

It had been such a lovely day.

Meme: My muse is furious. Try to calm them down. 

Another hole is violently brought into existence with all the subtlety of a demolition charge, dirt and rocks showering down onto the dryad that roars in blind rage her frustrations for all the world to hear.  Every time her fists connect with the ground, another earthen storm erupts until she is covered in filth.  It is no surprise then, given the magnitude of her tantrum that she doesn’t hear or sense Kok and his activities until he speaks up.  Whirring around to face him with razor sharp teeth bared in a snarl, it takes a moment for it to sink in who it is and she sheathes her fangs, but otherwise does not make a move.

Hel readied the tea in the quiet morning. Standing here like this with Eros at the table, quietly writing notes in one of his many leather bound journals, it felt to Hel as if this could be the beginning of their relationship, though that had long passed now. The two of them, making a pot of tea and sitting quietly in the early morning light was exactly the sort of thing that happened before the children. Now it happened in the pre-dawn moments while the children were still sleeping. The difference was that now Hell had the oven on, baking scones. Kok would come in looking for food eventually and Faera would follow behind, as she usually did, to antagonize Eros. And shortly after would come the patter of little feet. Gem would sidle into the kitchen to snatch a freshly baked scone off the table and then dare to ask him mother for help in tying his tie. Lenore, still young, would climb sleepily into her father’s lap, trying to sneak some of his tea when he wasn’t looking. Nessa would come in dressed and ready to begin her day. Her long dark hair braided down her back and toes off with a black ribbon, more woman than girl these days. And Edgar would cry and Hel, if her lap was unoccupied, would fetch the littlest of their children, still a baby. Or perhaps Kok would go. Sometimes Eros, tucking Lenore as he did some days. And then, all together at last, they would eat, the quietness of the morning long gone for the raucous togetherness of family.

Hel could see the way that the children would bicker playfully among themselves, dragging one of the adults into the argument. Auntie Ra Ra would always take the side against Eros, much to the children’s delight. And Kok would be far too busy stuffing his face to pay much mind until little Lenore decided that she had had enough of sitting with her father and climbed into Kok’s lap instead. Edgar, still tiny, would bang his hands onto the table, pointing outside to the garden. Breakfast was always too long an affair for him.

The whistling of the kettle aroused Hel from her daydream and she poured the water into the teapot, bring it to the table. She took her seat beside Eros and only then did he look up at her, smiling. Hel smiled back, reaching out to take his hand. “I am thankful for our family,” she told him gently, “but I so enjoy these quiet moments with you.”

Parachute by Ingrid Michaelson

I don't tell anyone about the way you hold my hand I don't tell anyone about the things that we have planned I won't tell anybody, won't tell anybody They wanna push me down, they wanna see you fall down Won't tell anybody that you turn the world around I won't tell anyone that your voice is my favorite sound I won't tell anybody, won't tell anybody They wanna see us fall, they wanna see us fall down I don't need a parachute, baby, if I've got you Baby, if I've got you, I don't need a parachute You're gonna catch me, you're gonna catch if I fall (Down, down, down)

Hel looked at the little boy in astonishment. This child before her was none other than Eros, her dear friend. His soul told her as much. But he was young. He was a child.

Hel inhaled sharply. It was rare that a being could see past her glamour and even more rare to comment on her appearance. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. “You can see what I am.” And his being was unfamiliar to her. Such a soul as his she had never seen before. “Yes, I am waiting for Eros. Are you?” she asked, confused about this strange creature. What connection could he have to Eros?