In Which Vera Finds Relief in the Mutual Discomfort

July 23, 1183

"There you are!" Vera greeted the dog with a pat on the head, and Whisper licked her nose in turn. The larger and hairier of her babies usually had free reign of the house, but Whisper had been stuck down here while they'd moved Morgan's things, and the poor puppy had no idea why. "Aren't you happy that Auntie Morgan and Viridis decided to come and live with us? Yes, you are. Yes, you are!"

Whisper yapped. Up in Morgan's arms, Viridis giggled--though Morgan herself had been a bit quiet most of the afternoon. Vera frowned. She knew that Morgan's first day was unlikely to be perfect, but she did want it to be at least good. "Are you all right? That chat you had with Lucien didn't..."

"Oh, no." Morgan let herself smile; it grew a little more earnest as she snuck a tickle beneath Viridis's chin. "If anything, it shed some light on a few things."

"Like how you know when perfect strangers miles away need you?"

"Yes, that." Viridis leaned to the side and reached one tiny little arm towards Whisper; Morgan set her down to meet the dog, then joined Vera further in the room. That had been rather... easy. There must have been something else bothering her friend. "Does Lucien have any special powers, apart from the elemental manipulations?"

"I don't know. He doesn't really like talking about it." And after Remiel, she didn't think she needed to ask why.

"Dog!"

Her little niece must have sensed something amiss and resolved to do something about it--at Whisper's expense, from the looks of that grip. "Dog!"

"Yes, sweetie, that's a nice dog." Morgan shot Vera a wink; behind her back, Whisper put on her begging eyes. "But anyway, I can't blame him for not wanting to talk about it, not after what he went through. What about your family, though?"

Her family. Vera swallowed. At least Morgan wasn't alone in her discomfort now. "My family."

"Well, Lucien said that your grandmother was one of us, so I just thought I'd ask. I'm a bit curious as to the, uh... hereditary aspects. For Viridis's sake, I guess.

"And wondering about my own daughter, maybe."

Greta. How tragic it was, leaving the world before even arriving. Vera's second pregnancy had ended before she'd even shown, a strained few hours of cramping and bleeding and the eventual presence of a tiny, shell-shaped baby in her hand, not even formed enough for her to guess its sex.

Was it better or worse, having gone the whole nine months?

"Well... my father can do the thing with the elements, but air's the only one that doesn't give him headaches, so he doesn't do it very often." Maybe that and wanting to forget the whole thing. If only all powers were voluntary. "And I... uh, well..."

"You don't want to talk about it either."

Vera shook her head. The one good thing about mutual discomfort was that it sometimes left room for understanding--never mind relief.

"That's all right. Let's talk about something else."

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