Cold
The cradle of a baby, gently shook by the mother, you. A fire crackled not far beside, the glowing flame a drastic difference to the freezing cold.
The door opened.
“It’s cold.” You said, not looking towards the door.
“I know.” He sat his coat over your shoulders, the weight sagging you down just a bit. “I’ll toss more logs on the fire.”
The flame flickered stronger than it did.
“How was your day?”
“Could’ve been better–those Sages believe themselves almighty, they’d rather dwell in their own pride.”
“Sounds… difficult.” You mused. He sat down near you, looking into the cradle with softness.
“How is she doing?” Pierro asked.
“Quite well–I tried to get her to walk, but she fell down.” You giggled at the memory from earlier that day.
Pierro smiled softly: “Sounds like fun.”Â
His gaze lingered on the baby for a moment, then back at you–leaning closer to you.
You kissed him: “Come hold the baby.” You smiled.
~~~
He watched the ruins of his home, your home… be destroyed by death itself.
