TO PORCELAIN, TO IVORY, TO STEEL
The stoic expression that graces his mother face is not one that he is unfamiliar with, he sees it everyday, rarely being blessed by anything else. Her callous words still him, understanding finally beginning to take root. His brother was dead. He was never coming back. His frown lingered, silver eyes welling up with unshed tears, though he dared not let them spill. His mothers voice was the only solace he found, knowing that he would not be alone. He had his mother, and Fia, that he knew. But he had no siblings, no brother to grow up with any longer. He would blink rapidly, wishing away the tears that he knew would undoubtedly upset his mother. His gaze would fall to his paws, brows furrowing deeply. The definition of the word he sought would fill his ears and commit to his brain. He was allowed to mourn, to be sad for the loss of his brother. But he couldn't show it. Such a display of emotions would not be welcomed by his mother.
He was to be strong. And according to his mother, the strongest did not display their emotions so evidently. But why? He didn't understand. Though nevertheless he would return his silver gaze to his mothers mismatched one. A sort of resolved form. He had batted away his tears, though the loss still weighed heavily upon him. I will be strong mama. He would vow, his words shaky, though they held meaning. He wanted nothing more than to please his mother, than to earn her praises. And to do that, he must forget about his brother, for his brother was weak and didn't make his mama happy. It was like a lightbulb. His brother had been weak and displeased their mother. The realization would slip across his face as he stared up at his mother. |