ORIGIN

here was her latin ritual: born of roses and the point of a knife, bookended in razor consonants like a vale between peaks, unfurled with an homage likely too subtle for her father to catch. even through an inferior filter — wholly unpracticed, and somehow both hoarse and cherubic next to her father's smooth, low timbre — it resonated strong in her lungs, rising to her mouth and lancing down her spine. its melody was sharp, exact, incisive; it rang just as true as auré's, an encapsulation of all she hoped to embody. with its release, a piece ... no, the centerpiece of a puzzle snapped into place, tiles reading she and darling and daughter fixed at its periphery. this jigsaw of the self had a long way to go, and she shrunk away (why?) from the prospect of finishing it; but in time, she would find the tiles and fit them together, one by one.

her name. the child turned it over and over in her head, running mental claws over its edges, cradling it like a glass figurine.

auré repeated it once, twice, with a questioning lilt in his pronunciation. for a moment she worried that her choice was too challenging, or too out of place; it lacked the tenor of his and aza'zel's, a biting reminder of the disparities she could already see between herself and her forefathers. after some hesitation, she nodded to verify.

his approval arrived in a contented narrowing of fiery eyes; her relief and delight, a crashing swell and brimming tears. he ... he likes it. a thin, trembling smile plucked at her lips.

drowsy fog weighed on her shoulders — staved off before by anxiety and necessity, but as those forces waned, this one set in. and yet, it was a pleasant exhaustion, the same that one felt after a job well done: it dampened multitudinous pains (and now a slight, hollow sensation of hunger), turning down the volume until they abated to a distant hum. she blinked away the shining glaze over her eyes, a single tiny trail coursing down her face, and the motion came sleepily; without her consent, a silent yawn revealed tiny teeth and a gray-blue tongue. she made to shake it off, but a velvety croon kept her still. you've had a busy day today.

she sidled closer to the forward fold of her father's wing and made a tentative feint of her muzzle towards it, leaving space for his permission before nuzzling her way into safety and shelter at his side. poolwater clung stubbornly to his coat, but he was warm, and that mattered most. a few tight circles and she curled in place over the floor, hooding herself with a blindfold of tailfeathers. a full-hearted sigh puffed out, indifferent to the temperamental jasper it infringed.

her name was a lullaby, soft in her ears.

damask ... damask ... damask ...