reluctant-reflection  asked:

What is Crow's brightest memory?

There is snow outside and all the world seems hushed by it. The interior of the old barn is warm, though, and even the howling of the wind can’t compete with the brilliance of the child’s laughter as she toddles through the old hay, stopping occasionally to pick it up and throw it in the air.

“She’s not frightened at all…”

He can tell that Kanea is just as smitten as he is; it’s in the airy tone of her voice, the gentle way her translucent hand clutches at his arm where they’re cuddled together.

“No. She came right to me.”

“She must be a changling. Or fae-blooded.”

He only shrugs, shaking his head. “She was alone. That’s all I know. I took her.”

He can feel Kanea smile without even looking at her, and when she kisses him he feels like he might burn right through the floor.

“Can we keep her?” he asks, almost teasing, and his heart swells when Kanea laughs, nodding as she snuggles up against him, her tiny body hungry for the heat he offered.

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, we’ll keep her.”


It had never been the whirlwind romance Crow had expected, the one he would idealize it into when he thinks back on it years in the future. The sentiment is there between them, the heady rush of affection and need to be close, but there is little tender brushing of fingers or eyes that Crow could fall into and drown forever. He suspects that if he tried, his wrist would be broken.

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