Nova Peak If you must mourn, my love, mourn with the moon and the stars up above

phaedra could have no possible idea how much inner-pain her mother harbored in the port of her heart, as children were quite only aware of themselves and cared merely aboout their own experiences in the world, up to a point. phaedra was perched on that point like a gargoyle on her cathedral plinth, and it was up to chance if she would emerge from the chrysalis of grotesquerie into a being of comity and and conscience and empathy or not.
there were the late bloomers, and then there were the guttersnipes that called their mothers rude names, like whore. tsk. but she was still only a child. there was hope for her yet.
inside wylla had to be some number of mortar tubes, because she went up in smoke the moment her mud-caked witchlet let the goblins loose from her soul and sicced them on her. she made for a very beautiful firework display as she sparked off only to be recalled back to earth with a fairly displeased look on her face before she realized who stood behind her. phaedra watched it unfold with awe couched in her face, gaze following her trajectory up ... and back down, and not without some impressive acrobatics inbetween.
it was like placing a cucumber next to an oblivious cat.
she'd discovered her forte.
a tinkling gigglesnort lurched phaedra backwards onto her haunches. her mother's flower bunch, now strewn across the fenny ground, caught phaedra's eye again, but wylla's shrill, restrained shout made soldiers of her ears.
she puckered her lips and cast her eyes about, shrugging in response only to meet her mother's tournesol gaze and say, "lookin for addtention i guess. wha'dre YOU doin in my swamp?" she stomped her feet in the mud, making noises that probably closely resembled what gremlin mating calls sounded like.