Swiftcurrent Creek Like a moth to the flame we become helpless

Jean-Pierre finds himself suspicious of this fateful reunion; his distrust stirring underneath the surface, nipping at his ankles for attention that he ignores. It is only when she overwhelms his senses that he lays in the palm of Fate's hand. The silken feel of her coat; the familiar lit of her voice; the scent that is the same, yet different all together. Alessia. This is real. It is not his mind playing cruel tricks on him again; showing him images of his long lost family. He could always see them from a distance, yet no matter how much he tried to interact, it was as if they slipped right through his finger tips. His embrace dodged time and time again. Yet now, here they are; reunited against all odds.

The blond boy feels his heart clench, sorrow and pure happiness mixing to create such conflicted feelings. He feels guilt for not going with them when he had the chance. All he can do now is beg silent forgiveness with gentle kisses, trying his best to ease the tears she cries. Jean-Pierre balances on a tightrope, swaying in the wind above emotions he wishes to hide in a void below.

He is ignorant to the fact he is not alone on the tightrope. Behind him is his sister, grasping hands desperate to keep from plunging further into the abyss. Jean-Pierre hums softly, pressing into her just as she utters his name and leans into him. Of course his mind races, questions of varying from the life Alessia has lived that he missed to the innocent hope that this meant Lainie and Rosalie were here too, just behind the door of Swiftcurrent Creek. He knows something is wrong when she starts again, scrambling to hold the knife that hits him square in the stomach with. His ears fold, and the once Heir crumbles again. Body trembles in her hold, his hindlegs refuse to carry his weight and force the lone wolfdog to sit.

'You're lying,' he wants to accuse. No matter how cold Alessia can be, however, Jean-Pierre knows she would never joke about this. His lips part, hanging open with words he finds himself unable to say. For what can he? Nothing can heal the loss; nothing can bring her back. He hates himself all the more, because over the time they've been apart, he found himself struggling to remember his sisters' faces... Now he'll never see sweet Lainie's again. A choked sob escapes his parted lips and Jean-Pierre forces his mouth shut with an audible click of his teeth. There are no words he can say, so the boy does what he does best; he hides. Burying his face in the dense coat of his sister, he weeps.

'Lainie, I'm sorry.'