An empty silence after the thought came around, both around and inside my thoughts. There was no denial, the memories were there of that lack of a face, the mother's love I had ran away from in favor of awaiting fates. But...maybe I could've been born to something normal instead? And had a normal body instead? And not one covered in horns, claws, sharp teeth, and other sharpness?

Ah, there she returns. A pot of fresh juices from god knows where, something to pour it in, and...somebody at her side. Smaller, feminine, prancing along in a little poncho the color of the night skies with pink stars embroidered within every inch or so, a wonderful pattern of what none of us would reach. Heart-shaped buds emerged from the forehead...perhaps we shared the same father, a horned, absent father.

I remained as silent as I was, still peering over this entire room, existance, my exisitance as a curse, everything felt about as real as the fog my head had crashed itself into. A cup nudged against my spot at a table bare with a cloth as decorated as the child at the side's clothes, for me to grasp, and take a slight sip of.

It tasted like any other sour candy would, but as a liquid. Of course, a sour candy meant making a rather sour face at it, which was met with the honest, light laughs of the family I was with. A family I'd probably never see again, unless I chose to falsify my duties to the city I had found a family within, and just become as much as a hermit as the other guardian has been. Wonder what Mocha Ray's up to.

"You've grown so cold to traditions in the home. Spit it out outside if you must."

"No...thanks," I swallowed it down to try and cut the suffering of such a taste off, "I'll be fine," and then took another swig to repeat the mistake. Was a little better the second time. Maybe it'd be better with ice.

An exhale from my mouth, before thinking of the face I must've made, and, too, laughing along with the younger one, who hadn't stopped laughing at all at the funny faces of bad tastes.