[ She'd lingered the longest of the children, simultaneously understanding why they chose their own paths to follow (alone, or together, most pairings she'd expected) and feeling a sense of obligation to stay.
Noire's mother had never once left her memories, but Noire hadn't been able to connect to her when she'd been young-- too young, too frightened, her mother's thoughts more on the war and her husband when they weren't focused on testing her newest hex on her child. And the thought had settled in, that perhaps... no, definitely, the little blonde baby who had wrapped tiny fingers around her own was not going to be like her.
The Noire of this time was going to have Libra around to dissuade Tharja from too many spells. She was going to grow up in a time of peace, surrounded by friends. She was going to be fine.
And that was when Noire had smiled, kissed her child self on the forehead, and finally departed.
She'd reported back, of course, and kept in touch with the other children-- children no longer, honestly, but still bound by a fate that thankfully no one else had to share. But Noire has gotten braver-- ultimately still quiet, still soft-spoken and easily spooked, but more... poised, she likes to think. She doesn't need to be hiding behind Severa or stammering at Kjelle, and the thought makes her smile as she readjusts her grip on her bag of baking ingredients and hauls it off the counter.
Outrealm festivals are loud, ultimately overwhelming, but she'd promised Owain a new cake when she saw him and Cynthia again, and there truly was no better place to find exotic ingredients.
... If only she hadn't stuffed the bag quite so full. Because even with her arm strength from her days on the battlefield, it's still absurdly heavy, and although Noire succeeds in keeping her grip on it, one wobbly step later and she's gone and lost her balance, pitching backwards with a yelp. ]
HI
Noire's mother had never once left her memories, but Noire hadn't been able to connect to her when she'd been young-- too young, too frightened, her mother's thoughts more on the war and her husband when they weren't focused on testing her newest hex on her child. And the thought had settled in, that perhaps... no, definitely, the little blonde baby who had wrapped tiny fingers around her own was not going to be like her.
The Noire of this time was going to have Libra around to dissuade Tharja from too many spells. She was going to grow up in a time of peace, surrounded by friends. She was going to be fine.
And that was when Noire had smiled, kissed her child self on the forehead, and finally departed.
She'd reported back, of course, and kept in touch with the other children-- children no longer, honestly, but still bound by a fate that thankfully no one else had to share. But Noire has gotten braver-- ultimately still quiet, still soft-spoken and easily spooked, but more... poised, she likes to think. She doesn't need to be hiding behind Severa or stammering at Kjelle, and the thought makes her smile as she readjusts her grip on her bag of baking ingredients and hauls it off the counter.
Outrealm festivals are loud, ultimately overwhelming, but she'd promised Owain a new cake when she saw him and Cynthia again, and there truly was no better place to find exotic ingredients.
... If only she hadn't stuffed the bag quite so full. Because even with her arm strength from her days on the battlefield, it's still absurdly heavy, and although Noire succeeds in keeping her grip on it, one wobbly step later and she's gone and lost her balance, pitching backwards with a yelp. ]