Hushed Willows But everything, it all just feels the same

For as far back as he could remember, his mother had hated him. She’d never given him the affection that he both desired and deserved, having instead chosen to always push him away. Yet, a moment or two had still been taken to think about the older boy’s words and whether or not they held any truth to them—which they didn’t, he’d decided. “She doesn’t,” he said again, but this time with a scrunched up face. It was the one thing in life that he was absolutely certain of, given what he’d experienced. With yet another shake of his head, he’d tried to look passed that, attention captivated by what he’d been told: someone liked him. That gave him an idea. “Be my mom,” proposed the whelp, unable to see what was wrong with that. “Take me from her.” It’s not like Amara would care anyways, right? Definitely not. She had other things to worry about, such as what babies she could punt across a field and what babies she could not.

As Tambourine moved ahead of him and bowed down, the wraith froze in place. Rarely had he played with his siblings, which made the entire concept of play rather foreign to him. With his brows pinched together in confusion, he’d tried to answer the questions—having assumed that he was supposed to—but stopped dead in his tracks as a snowball smacked into his face. He’d not been able to move away quick enough, nor had he even thought to do so given his lack of experience with snow and how it could be molded. Pouting, Eros then proclaimed, “You don’t like me!” and proceeded to fight back the tears that pricked the corners of his eyes. Because Eros is a total wuss.