She had always been such a frail creature. Her round face was angelic – her tiny body was dear. She would let you lift her into your arms and hold her for a few moments. She would rest her head against your chest and listen to your heartbeat, only to protest when she got hungry or wanted to be let down again.
It was expected that she would grow up to be some dark Queen of the Night. Her dusk-like complexion would have hidden her while she prowled after hours, seeking some unfortunate little creature that had no business being out and about, away from the safety of their nest. Like her mother before her – strong, proud and deadly.
And then, when she wasn’t out and about, she would seek shelter in your arms. She would crave the affirmation that she had a place in the palace. Her seat was one of honour and was to be respected outright. When she sought your hand, you would give it to her without question or hesitation.
But it would not be. She was a little candle that dimmed and extinguished before we could really know what she was capable of.
Thank you for letting me hold you tonight as you slipped away.
