7ARC I: The thing about a mother's hatred is that it's not that different from a mother's love.
They say that mothers sometimes give birth to their pain instead of children. Only that wasn't the case for Adora Delacour's mother.
Instead of her pain, she gave birth to her wrath.
No one is truly happy about it, Adora lest of all
Death comes to her in the form of a man, though she does not know it yet.
Instead, Adora Delacour meets him at a parent-children conference.
The nine-year-old is waiting for her mother, you see, a smile still on her lips though the sun has already started to set. The day is already halfway gone and yet, her mother still hasn't come to the conference.
Her friend's parents look at her as if she is a pitiful thing as Mother's absence looms over Adora like a shadow, thick and unforgiving.
It's been three hours Adora is waiting primly close to the garden's door, her uniform neatly pressed and perfect, a blue ribbon in her ebony hair.
"I am sure your dear mother is almost there," Lily's mother coos in her sweet, titling voice, a delicate hand landing softly on Adora's shoulder, but for all its gentleness, the touch still burns. She has never been quite touched without a purpose before, be it to silence her, to shake her or really, anything.
"Of course," Adora smiles back prettily.
Lily holds her hand tightly, her golden brows furrowing in indignation. It is clear that her friend is angry for her because Adora has learned to swallow her bitterness with a smile, careful not to ruin the few precious moments she has with her mother before the memories tear her away once more. The little girl does not have the heart to tell her friend it is useless to hold onto that anger.
It isn't the first time Mother forgets to come, and it will not be the last time. Adora tries not to hold it against her, to bite her tongue because her mother truly tries her best. Tries to be there for her, though her green eyes grow muddled from memories more often than not.
Not that anyone else notices.
Oh, but they do notice how peculiar Adora can be though. For all of her mother's wealth, it does little to leash wagging tongues that like to comment on Adora. For all they enjoy her company and appreciate her smile, there are some faults that people from their Academy simply cannot forgive.
Like Adora's lack of a father. Or Adora's inability to read.
For someone of her blood, of the Academy, it is a jarring thought. Yet, it isn't that Adora is simple of mind; rather, the letters just won't stay still.
"Now, Lily, I know you wish to stay with Adora, but your piano teacher awaits. We must go,"
Mr. Avangarde says warmly. He's a tall, blonde man, always dressed in an expensive trench coat, always with a smile to gift Adora.
"Now?" Lily repeats with a whine.
"Now," her father nods.
Lily turns to Adora, biting her lip. The dark-haired girl smiles. "Go, I'll be fine. I'm sure Mother will be here any minute now."
After all, the sun will soon set and a moonless night has never been safe for Adora.
"Are you sure?"
not really
But it isn't like Adora can ask Lily to stay. It isn't simply done though she fears the shadows of loneliness and the silence that grasps at her in a tight, unforgiving grip.
"Yeah," the Delacour heiress says instead, fond and soft. And if she hugs Lily a tad tighter, as if trying to sew their skin together, no one will know.
There is someone hidden in the shadows of a tree watching her.
Now, Adora understands it is a startling and even worrisome statement, one that would have most screaming and fleeing.
And truly, she would have done so.
Yet impossibly, she doesn't. The reason still escapes her, but it is like a small part of her is begging her not to leave. Innocently, her feet - now shoeless - bat at the pond's water, creating splashes of azure and silver. There isn't anyone else around, few knows of this small place and fewer deign to come.
"Are you going to stay hidden all day, mister?" she asks instead of fleeing. Adora has never been one to claim herself brave, but still, the words escape her.
Leaves ruffle. The silhouette that leaves the tree is tall, muscular, and draped in shadows as he remarks softly, "Usually, people flee in my presence."
"Sounds lonely," Adora cannot help but observe. Her gaze is sharp as she quirks a brow, a hand to her thigh with her fingers brushing against the hield of her celestial dagger. "To have people leave so quickly."
There's a chuckle. "Perhaps, but I don't begrudge them for their fear. I am told I can be quite a fright. To flee is the natural response in the face of danger."
The young girl blinks slowly at the remark. Most would want to seem innocuous when approaching a stranger, to hide their fangs and shed their pelt, to become a sheep instead of a wolf, at least at first. Because once the mask is shed, there is no going back to false pretenses.
Instead, the man wears his danger like a glove, perfectly tailored to him. Shadows hide the stranger's face even as he comes closer, yet oddly enough, Adora isn't scared.
Wary, sure.
But not scared.
"And are you dangerous, mister?" she asks.
He is quick to reply, sure in his words. "I'd like to think not for you."
"Why not?"
He doesn't answer, acts as if her words were lost to the wind. "Why? Are you scared?" he asks instead, meeting her question with his own, unequal in their exchange.
"Should I be?" she challenges as she catches sight of the man who crouches down to talk to her. He does not look old, no older than her own mother in fact. The garden's light shines sharply on his skin.
Frankly, Adora is not scared. It might seem odd for most, but Adora truly believes that Mother, for all of her anger and her pain, will never leave her endangered.
After all, that is her mother's love.
It might not be gentle and sweet like the way Lily's mother loves her daughter, it might not be with the cold disregard most of her classmates endure, but it is love, nevertheless.
"No."
The man looks fond as he gazes at her softly, and she wonders who she reminds him of. She is quite familiar with such eyes—after all, her Mother has the very same eyes whenever fall approaches, and Uncle Derek's death anniversary is announced when November comes calling.
Regardless, Adora is sure that fondness is not meant for her eyes.
Why would it?
She doesn't know him.
"Well, haven't you heard of stranger danger?"
He somehow gets closer. Adora immediately distances herself, her hands now firmly grabbing both her daggers, though they remain hidden.
"And what if I told you I was no stranger?"
Adora's lips thin, her smile dying into a straight line. "Then, I'd say you are lying."
The stranger frowns at that. It makes his cheekbones sharper, more lethal and the shadows darken. "Well, I'm not."
She cannot help but snort. "I don't know you, mister."
Sorrow lines his cheeks, flattens his golden eyes at her answer. "You may not know me yet, but I am still no stranger." He spits the word as if it were particularly foul, an insult to him that he cannot and will not stand.
Why is he getting angry at her?
Adora is quick to answer, her tongue sharp from her time at the Academy. "You should try to search that word in the dictionary; it would do you some good."
Because she knows not that stranger that wears her refusal like an insult that breaks his heart, that stranger with hair so dark, it makes one with the shadows.
"My," his voice is sardonic, yet still impossibly fond. She does not think it has ever stopped to be from the moment he started talking to her. "You have a sharp tongue."
"I got it from my mother."
"Or perhaps, your father," he teases, but she does not smile or jest back. Instead, her eyes glare daggers.
Adora has heard it many times.
Where is your father, Adora?
She doesn't know.
Mother says that he left.
He must have never wanted you.
It could be said that fatherly figures were somewhat of a sore topic for Adora. Every Father's day, the manor seems colder, darker and emptier as yet another card crafted during class is thrown away.
It is fine. Adora has no need for someone who left and didn't come back. The same that his absence shackles her, she denies his existence.
(that denial made Mother smile. Not a gentle, loving smile, but one that is sharp, bitter, and knowing.)
"I do not have have one."
Her denial seems to break the light atmosphere that surrounds them alike how a mirror shatters. Suddenly, with only an exhale as a sound.
"No?" the stranger's voice grows dangerous.
"No," Adora repeats. Challenging. Dangerous too though she is only nine of age.
"Everyone has a father."
everyone but her it seems
"Maybe," she smiles. "But can you claim to have a father when you have never seen him?"
He grows quiet for a few seconds.
"Do you resent him?" he asks.
It is a personal topic, one Adora would usually ignore because it isn't anyone's business as to what she feels for having nothing to call a father.
Some mothers remarry only to gift their children a father figure, like how Tracey's mother has remarried twice to find the perfect father for Tracey.
Adora's mother will not.
Adora asked once.
"Would you fall in love again?"
Mother stares before a sharp laugh escapes her. "What's all this about, darling?"
"Tracey has a new father, now."
Mother frowns. It makes the emerald of her eyes harden, it almost makes her look angry.
"Do you want a father?" Mother asks.
"I-"
" Is my love not enough for you?"
Adora lowers her gaze, guilt sitting heavy in her chest and churning till she wants to throw up. "Of course it is!" she exclaims before shadows can claim her mother's eyes and shackle her to the past once more.
Mother raises her voice almost like a whip. "So, why are you asking?!"
Because Adora wanted to know about that man who made her mother forget her pain and agony for a shortwhile.
Because her mother's love starves her for more.
The stranger asks her if she resents her father.
Can you resent someone you have never met?
Can you resent someone who has promised you nothing?
"I don't."
The stranger sighs, oddly relieved but that relief is long gone as Adora continues. "I'd have to know him to resent him."
"You do not resent his absence?"
Adora shrugs. "Mother said he left. I like to think it was against his will."
The stranger sits down. "Believe me, little one, it truly was against his will."
Adora stares ahead, frowning at the shadows. These are kind words, but words are fleeting, wilted flowers to the wind. The Delacour heiress doesn't need empty reassurances.
It is a fact of life.
The sky is blue.
Adora's father left almost a decade ago.
"How would you know?" Her skepticism bleeds onto her every word.
"Because I have wanted to meet you for so long."
There is a pause, heavy in things unsaid, where life seems to freeze, and death comes knocking.
Adora turns to the side, facing the man who looks at her fondly.
They look alike; that is the first thing Adora Delacour notices. It is jarring, almost like catching a glimpse of her own reflection, only taller and colder.
People used to whisper about Adora's looks. How different she looks from the Delacour family who have sunshine for hair.
While her mother is soft and golden - with golden hair, a heart-shaped face, and pouty lips, Adora is all sharpness and darkness. A mirror of her absentee father.
different
Her father looks different, too.
"Father?" She calls out, hesitant, afraid to want but the longing is tearing her chest apart.
"Hi, precious Adora," he smiles. "You've grown well."
"Adora?"
Her name, cradled so lovingly in her mother's voice, reaches both of them.
Adora looks up from her spot, curled into her Father's side as they talk. His voice is deep with an accent that polishes every syllable cleanly, though she does not recognize it.
He lets her talk, asks questions in that kind voice of his.
Ah.
Adora has forgotten her Mother was supposed to come.
"Mother is here," she says. The raven-haired girl gets up, dusting her skirt and she only pauses briefly, hesitant and unsure, before extending a shy hand to her father.
It lingers in the space between the two of them. A silent offering to someone she had ceased to believe in over the years.
Both father and daughter stare at the small appendage, delicate fingers opened and extended, though there's a small tremble to them.
As if Adora is offering her heart.
Maybe she is.
Maybe she isn't.
She is her mother's daughter, after all.
(she is also her father's daughter, but Gods have never worn hesitation before and it suits her godly blood oddly)
Her father grabs her hand with assurance, catching her heart before it can fall on the floor and shatter at his feet.
His hand is cold in hers, like a winter's wind or maybe a corpse. It is cold enough to bite at her skin, but Adora can only imagine warmth instead because Father is holding her hand.
A smile breaks out on her face, bright and pure.
"Mother!" Adora cries out, clutching at this stranger her father's hand tightly, afraid that if she was to lessen it by a smidge, he would fade away. She hurries to see her mother, small heels clicking on the stone path till the school's majestic garden gates appear, with her mother standing there.
Mother cuts an imposing and beautiful figure in the light, golden hair shining and her slender frame sharp in its contrast. She smiles brightly as she sees Adora running to her.
"Father, he-. Father came back!"
Mother's bright smile dies at Adora's words.
"-What?" she whispers.
Adora carries on. "He came back for me! For us!"
Mother has always been soft on the face—soft cheeks, a button nose, and dimples—lovely in the way poets sing about beauty and delicacy. Like a princess from a fairy tale, Lily would breathe out in awe.
Now, Mother is different.
Her emerald eyes glare daggers, her pink lips are pursed, and she wears her snarl like the bite of a prey cornered, as she catches sight of Father who lingers behind Adora.
"Mother?" Adora whispers at the silence. The little girl has never seen her mother quite like so, not even on her worst nights when she curses Adora and her sapphire eyes. So afraid, bitter and angry all at once. A dichotomy of emotions that the black-haired girl doesn't understand.
He came back.
Why is she so angry?
"Maman?" Adora repeats, like a child turning to her mother because the world is a cruel and fearsome place.
Oh, that is right.
Adora is a child.
Something like heartbreak paints itself on Mother's face, makes her dimple disappear.
"Adora," she calls out sweetly, a sob in her name. "Come to me, my love."
She sounds grief-stricken, though Adora doesn't understand why. The little girl falters, blue eyes flickering between her father and mother, the tightening of her grip the only hint of her discomfort.
if she lets go, will her Father leave once more?
Céleste Delacour, however, knows her daughter. She reads the hesitation and it makes the older woman's lips curl into something almost wrathful. "Adora," she repeats, her voice sharp. "Leave him."
Adora knows that tone well.
It's the one that comes before the words that draw blood and linger skin deep.
Her mouth tastes like ashes as she walks over her mother, leaving the shadows that seem to cling to her father.
"Him?" Father chuckles, but unlike before, it isn't anything kind. "Is that all that I am to you now, dearest Céleste?"
Mother ignores his question, which is more of a taunt than something that seeks an answer. "You said you wouldn't come."
Father exhales a hiss to his voice. "You asked. I said nothing." He then grows softer as he gazes at Adora. "I wanted to see her."
"Well, now that you've seen her, you can go."
"She is my daughter, Céleste. Mine. You can't take her from me." His imperious voice
thunders.
Mother snarls right back, unflinching in front of his otherwordly anger that has Adora flinching back slightly, her breath caught into her throat like glass.
"My daughter is not yours to take. Nor is she something to take."
"But she is mine."
It is like they have forgotten all about Adora though they speak of her.
"You weren't so quick to accept her at first," Mother sneers.
Adora pretends she does not hear the rejection in Mother's words in the face. If anything, she wishes she could go to her Father's side, to clutch his hand in hers and not let go before he decides she is not worth the trouble and leaves.
"And you weren't so keen to keep her at first. See how we all change?"
The words carve themselves into Adora's back, one welt at a time, bloody and raw, and her parents do not notice.
"I love her," Mother's voice is strong, steel in the wind, unflinching. But she does not deny Father's claim, a small part of Adora whispers, flinching. "I love that precious child more than I have loved life."
"And I love her too."
Mother snorts. "You do not know her."
"And who is to blame for that?" Father's golden eyes flash, and it gets colder, though it is only summer. "She is the daughter of Death. How can I not love her?"
"Do you even know what it means to love?"
Adora cringes at that, shoulders curling at the sheer resentment that coats her mother's tongue. Careful, she wants to beg. Don't make him leave us.
don't make him leave me again
"Maman-" she tries to speak up, to soothe tempers but her attempt is shut down almost brutally.
"Not now, Adora," Mother interrupts with barely a glance at her. She turns to Father, something almost like fear lingering in the shadows beneath her eyes. "I won't condemn her to my fate, Thanatos. I won't do it."
Adora's mother sounds grief-stricken, as if mourning Adora already as she breathes.
It is almost like she is begging.
like mother, like daughter.
Father grows softer too. Perhaps not as soft as Lily's father is, but softer than his anger. As if understanding yet not, familiar in the language of grief yet not fluent. "I am not him. Your father-"
"Do not speak of my father to me."
Mother spits the title as if it is something hateful, something she does not want to remember.
But she does remember.
They both do.
It would be hard to forget when his touch lingers everywhere.
It is almost funny before though Mother has never spoken of Father to Adora, it isn't the case of her own father.
Adora knows much about that man.
God of the Sun, God of Healing.
god of plagues
None can escape his memory.
Adora lest of all for everytime she catches sight of her reflection, the sapphire that looks back at her is the same that comes from her divine grandfather.
Bright like the unforgiving sun.
"Céleste," Father repeats. Slow, steady, sure. "I am not him."
"But you are a God," Mother's voice breaks like a wave that shatters into soft foam on a cliff.
"And Gods only know selfishness. You might disguise it as love, but we both know it isn't.
And sometimes we realize that love cannot save us all.
Author note:
Hey! I hope you liked this first chapter, please let me know your thoughts! It will be a Luke Castellan/Original Female character, I'm just setting the stage ;)
Lots of love,
Daphne