🫂 two people weird about touch, go!
Her son. Her boy. And she cradled him the same way as if she’d held him in the sterile light of a hospital, in a flimsy gown. She’d stolen him the way the Folk do, she thought sometimes, or maybe it was the opposite. He appeared a changeling, fully formed and grown and re-worked with his prosthetics to keep him upright, in the night and stayed.
All she knew was he was sad and on her couch with his eyes limned in silver and the staring like moth at a bug zapper. She knew the look, she wore it herself many times and she wondered if his time here infected him with her own flaws, if she’d passed them on all the same. Did it matter? She could fret over that later. Right now she slid into the space next to him as gentle as a sliver of moon through the linen curtains.
“C’mere, kiddo,” she said and tugged his head to her shoulder and ran her hand through his hair. She felt the tug of her body itching to move but what was this for her son? “You wanna tell me about it?” She asked after a few moments, voice soft and tickling as the centipedes she saw him doting over in the garden.




















