Post by Cétan on Jul 3, 2017 23:49:57 GMT
SACRED WINGS
Cétan was having a hard time piecing the words together. He heard them just fine but they didn’t seem to make sense. Like they were out of order or in a foreign language. His dark brows knit together in confusion. “I don’t…” He shook his head as Agron repeated the news once more, his large hands bracing Cétan on either shoulder. The boy would have been thankful for that in any other situation but his mind was miles away and the blood was fleeing fast from his features, buckling his knees and settling like a foul rock in the pit of his stomach.
Granny was dead. She’d passed away. Walked on. Fled this world. So on and so forth. So many ways to sugar coat the hard fact that Cétan’s last living relative was dead and he was on his own.
Cétan let go of a breath he had no idea he was even holding, tears bursting through the flood gates before he even realized the pain had hit. His own hands moved to grasp at Agron’s shirt, desperate and despairing, clinging to him as if he were next to vanish from the world. The wrenching sob that escaped his throat was so foreign to himself it felt as if he were merely watching his own breakdown as a spectator.
His knees finally gave way and Agron lead him gently to the floor, bending and folding himself around the boy, never losing contact. Cétan burrowed into the warmth and safety that was always present in Agron’s arms, so thankful he was there, but never feeling as lonely in his entire life. What was he going to do without Granny’s feisty smile? Without her sage and often questionable advice? Without the last blood link that connected him in someway to the world around him?
What was he going to do without her?
tag: Agron
