Marigold's feelings about her father remained difficult, both in their experience and in attempting to surmise them. Still, things were nowhere near as bad as they had been with her and Auburn's mother when Analia had still been alive, and Mar had even been protective of her in many ways. As his uneasiness pressed in around them, as Nash began to speak in a way that made it seem like he wanted this moment to hurt rather than properly dreading sharing pain, she wanted to step between and defend. A dumb, useless impulse. Chan had been alive over seven years now, he could bear the relationship he'd built (and then maybe deconstructed) with his own brother. He'd certainly have to, now.
It wasn't like anything her uncle had brought up had been a petty point. Death after death after death after loss. Mar didn't mean to reflect her father in needing to swallow back the lump which had formed in her throat.
Chan's response was over just as soon as it had begun, two tiny words filling then vacating the air. Her gray eyes blinked, and she glanced at him. Broken and devoid of all spirit, like she'd always known him. Shame on her, for thinking he'd manage anything more. She shifted uncomfortably, considering attempting to step in for him altogether.
"As am I," Mar decided on, voice tinted and dampened but still as earnest as her parent's,
"truly, Nash, Matos."
(This post was last modified: Aug 15, 2024, 10:36 PM by Marigold.)