Sawtooth Spire there's lots of middle ground between the kings and centipedes

ja, ja her laughter, so daedal in its fashioning, so sweet and pure and nectared, that it made her old man wax verklempt and sob.
that would have been the ideal occasion for his fell tears. alas, it was more complicated. much more complicated. treacly so, and not a story meant for her ears. just the same, if only she could find the empty spot in his heart where his losses resided and snuggle into it, maybe that would make her daddy feel better? or she would sing all of the laughter she was allotted in her lifetime into his veins if it meant they would never again run cold with dismay.
his cloudburst rained upon her, guttering down his muzzle to water her like she was a potted posy on his windowsill. she tucked her petals against her chest, and stared quietly up at him as her tummy soaked up his sadness. if all it took to take his sadness away was to soak it up with her tummy, then she was proud to do it. ”diiiidaa,” she blathered softly, eyes restlessly scanning him as though she was deep in poseidon’s realm of concentration—determined to read his face. 
still unable to do that, to her vexation, she blinked several times in succession and clouded her brow. 
there was a touching melancholia to his voice, though she could only feel the rumbles in his chest, which made her feel hushedly giggly again. ”daaaaaaa.” phaedra said in a whispery prattle. it was in no manner associated with the man before her, nor the first intended word upon her tongue; it was simple baby babble.
her charming smile reappeared, the tip of her pink tongue between her lips, and she reached for him imploringly, asking with grunting insistence that he hold his face closer.