Hideaway Strath Synapses Snap Back in Blissful Anguish

He made no move to interrupt, only reaching out, wet arm dripping faint ripples across the water’s surface as he stretched to retrieve the nearly empty bowl of wine. He swirled the remnants slowly, watching the dark liquid slosh and spiral, its deep red staining the bowl wherever it touched.

It is a rare thing, to be seen for all that one truly is, he murmured thoughtfully, paw stilling mid-swirl. A few stray droplets slipped over the rim, scattering crimson over the clear water. With what could nearly be described as reverence, he raised the bowl, voice low, To us misfits, then, and to those we leave behind.

With a slow tilt, he poured the last of the wine into the pool, watching the dark liquid spiral and scatter like fish, swept swiftly away by the water’s steady current. He lingered, eyes tracing the red as it dissolved, then settled back, allowing his aide to continue her work on the tension in his shoulders.

Your mother, he mused, probing yet not without genuine interest, was she the reason you left home so young? His opalescent gaze flicked to hers, wondering if her departure had been born of pride—a need to prove herself worthy in a world that had dismissed her too quickly. Or perhaps there was another reason?