A long time coming

For the duration of Mojito’s meeting with Kotori, Satira sat on the periphery of the conversation, listening in but not engaging or reacting in any visible way. Inside, she was a maelstrom, a tumultuous storm of whirlwind emotions she didn’t know how to decipher or which to embrace and which to reject. She said nothing in his defense or his prosecution, a silent observer just witnessing whatever unfolded from this meeting. Seeing the way his expression lit up and long-furred tail, so similar to her own, began to wag in obvious enthusiasm struck her like a dagger to the heart. In the end, her father ended up joining Valta, and Kotori laid out the basic rules before turning him loose to get settled in. That was when Tira’s heart seized up in her chest, her breath catching as she watched her sire step over the borders and move in her direction.

She was so conflicted. What was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to feel? Once upon a time, Tira would have gone sprinting to her father, all smiles and overjoyed to see him. But that Satira wasn’t here anymore. She’d stopped existing somewhere between Mojito’s third and fifth disappearance from her life. After she’d shared her feelings of abandonment, of being an unwanted consequence of her parents’ fun and he’d promised he’d be there for her… he wasn’t. He’d vanished from her life, like all the times before. It had been a catalyst that had propelled her into her hedonistic tendencies to cope with the insecurity, the source of her feelings of being unwanted or insignificant. Her lifelong struggle of finding who she was and where she felt she belonged. That wasn’t to say it was all entirely Mojito’s fault alone, but his absence had certainly done her no favors for that festering negativity that haunted her heart like a wraith.

He came up to her, and two sets of pale blue eyes met. Tira's eyes reflected a broken and sad soul, a yearning and yet an apprehension and fear. She had no words to say. Her tongue felt numb, her vocal cords paralyzed with emotion. All she could do was look at him as he offered her a ghost of a smile and a nod of his head—and then onward he went. No words were exchanged, no greetings, no apologies—just nothing. Acknowledgement of her existence and then nothing. Satira's heart broke all over again. Her shoulders slumped, floppy ears folding back in a miserable display. He didn't even try to talk to her this time. That hurt more than all of his hollow apologies had time and time before. With that, the miasma of turbulent emotions in her chest found focus, and one came roaring out of the maelstrom stronger than all the rest. Anger.

Steel blue eyes narrowed to points as the little wolf-dog rounded on her passing father, glaring at his backside while he kept moving. "No!" she shouted after Mojito, jaws clenching into a snarl as dainty paws rushed nimbly through the grass to cut her sire off, blocking him with her body and force him to stop. "No, you don't just get to walk in here like the last three years didn't happen. You don't get to pretend like everything's okay, because it's fucking not!" Satira's chest heaved as she swallowed down shallow breaths, trying to keep herself composed enough to not break down completely and to stay strong while confronting her absentee father. Piercing icy eyes held his, having to look up to meet his gaze, but in her rage Satira felt like a giant. So many questions buzzed around in her head like angry hornets, so many things she wanted to say burning on the tip of her tongue. But one screamed in her head and her heart louder than all the rest. "What's your problem with me, Dad? What's so wrong with me that you didn't ever want to be around?"

"Satira"