I need you to get back up. [open]
She really wished Stacy would have given her more of a warning, before filling her head full of memories she wasn't sure she was prepared for. She had to excuse herself from a council meeting, apologizing profusely in half-panicked signing.
Kinase was dead. She remembered that now. He wouldn't be waiting in the pods for her when this was all over, he wouldn't kiss her cheek or remind her that she was overreacting (even when she was sure she wasn't). She wouldn't hear his laugh, or roll her eyes when he wore some gaudy, bright-pink shirt, claiming to be the height of Draenic fashion. He had been an idiot who had, somehow, agreed to marry her - first as a joke, then seriously, as someone who loved her. It figured that a man who'd survived the Cataclysm of Azeroth, and the Exodus from Draenor would somehow be unable to survive the Ohm's rampant destruction of everything.
But now he was gone, and she remained. If she'd been able to, Nehaalista would've screamed her frustrations. Her hooves found her pointed to the sensoriums, and she conjured up the home on Azuremyst they'd built and then subsequently hid in when Vaals was born.
Vaals, her little, little Vaals. Vaals was safe. He had to be. He was little and sweet, and she refused to believe that his big eyes, soft hair, and even, gentle voice was taken from her, too. Nehaalista's hooves tore up the half-finished pathway to the house and she threw the door open. Her little boy played on a blanket before several lighting crystals, safe and sound thanks to the illusion of the sensoriums, and somewhere floating in a pile of mucus down in the pod caverns if she were lucky.
Nehaalista picked the little boy up, who protested slightly, and sank into Kinase's chair. She buried her face into Vaals' light-colored hair and breathed shallowly. Why couldn't anything have simple and clean resolutions?
Kinase was dead. She remembered that now. He wouldn't be waiting in the pods for her when this was all over, he wouldn't kiss her cheek or remind her that she was overreacting (even when she was sure she wasn't). She wouldn't hear his laugh, or roll her eyes when he wore some gaudy, bright-pink shirt, claiming to be the height of Draenic fashion. He had been an idiot who had, somehow, agreed to marry her - first as a joke, then seriously, as someone who loved her. It figured that a man who'd survived the Cataclysm of Azeroth, and the Exodus from Draenor would somehow be unable to survive the Ohm's rampant destruction of everything.
But now he was gone, and she remained. If she'd been able to, Nehaalista would've screamed her frustrations. Her hooves found her pointed to the sensoriums, and she conjured up the home on Azuremyst they'd built and then subsequently hid in when Vaals was born.
Vaals, her little, little Vaals. Vaals was safe. He had to be. He was little and sweet, and she refused to believe that his big eyes, soft hair, and even, gentle voice was taken from her, too. Nehaalista's hooves tore up the half-finished pathway to the house and she threw the door open. Her little boy played on a blanket before several lighting crystals, safe and sound thanks to the illusion of the sensoriums, and somewhere floating in a pile of mucus down in the pod caverns if she were lucky.
Nehaalista picked the little boy up, who protested slightly, and sank into Kinase's chair. She buried her face into Vaals' light-colored hair and breathed shallowly. Why couldn't anything have simple and clean resolutions?