[It’s not immediate. Unlike Eren’s sharp grasp, Aubrey’s memory takes a moment to settle—and when it sets in, it’s not a grab but a gentle breeze.]
[There’s less sight than sensation. Dappled sun through the trees, leaves rustling a lullaby. The earth is soft beneath the picnic basket, and Aubrey is tired—not at all from strain or stress, but because she’s spent the morning running around with friends—Kel, Sunny, Basil. Kel’s puppy Hector has chased them (or they’ve chased him?) all around the lakeside, yipping and prancing all the way, and they’ve settled back with the older kids, Hero and Mari, for a quick nap before going home.
[Aubrey has nearly fallen asleep, but not yet. Mari is laughing; a quiet, perfect sound that Aubrey will never get tired of hearing. Hero, on one side of Mari, must’ve said something funny; he’s always so cheesy. And although Sunny is curled up on his sister’s lap, Mari’s other side is open for Aubrey to lean on. It’s a nice rest.
[She feels warm. She feels safe. She feels cared for, deeply and wholly. It’s a rare feeling. Mari strokes lithe fingers through the girl’s hair, and Aubrey drifts off to a calming hum.]
[There’s a sadness here, of course. The memory is all the more precious because this was one of the last they had, by the lake. And there was a time when the apparent defacement of this moment sent Aubrey spiraling, almost worse than the news that Mari would do such a terrible thing to herself, because something about the marks made the loss all the more real—
[But that was years ago. Sometimes Aubrey thinks she only held onto that searing rage because she had nothing else. The pictures are okay now, even if their taker isn’t; and the flame has subsided to a glowing ember, a candle in the storm. It’s a melancholy, bittersweet thing, now. Only love remains. She won’t let it die.]
[She hopes, grief-tinged as it may be, that the memory brings some peace to Eren, too.]
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[It’s not immediate. Unlike Eren’s sharp grasp, Aubrey’s memory takes a moment to settle—and when it sets in, it’s not a grab but a gentle breeze.]
[There’s less sight than sensation. Dappled sun through the trees, leaves rustling a lullaby. The earth is soft beneath the picnic basket, and Aubrey is tired—not at all from strain or stress, but because she’s spent the morning running around with friends—Kel, Sunny, Basil. Kel’s puppy Hector has chased them (or they’ve chased him?) all around the lakeside, yipping and prancing all the way, and they’ve settled back with the older kids, Hero and Mari, for a quick nap before going home.
[Aubrey has nearly fallen asleep, but not yet. Mari is laughing; a quiet, perfect sound that Aubrey will never get tired of hearing. Hero, on one side of Mari, must’ve said something funny; he’s always so cheesy. And although Sunny is curled up on his sister’s lap, Mari’s other side is open for Aubrey to lean on. It’s a nice rest.
[She feels warm. She feels safe. She feels cared for, deeply and wholly. It’s a rare feeling. Mari strokes lithe fingers through the girl’s hair, and Aubrey drifts off to a calming hum.]
[There’s a sadness here, of course. The memory is all the more precious because this was one of the last they had, by the lake. And there was a time when the apparent defacement of this moment sent Aubrey spiraling, almost worse than the news that Mari would do such a terrible thing to herself, because something about the marks made the loss all the more real—
[But that was years ago. Sometimes Aubrey thinks she only held onto that searing rage because she had nothing else. The pictures are okay now, even if their taker isn’t; and the flame has subsided to a glowing ember, a candle in the storm. It’s a melancholy, bittersweet thing, now. Only love remains. She won’t let it die.]
[She hopes, grief-tinged as it may be, that the memory brings some peace to Eren, too.]