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WC. 530
There was unfamiliarity in his actions. Most children obtained a certain knowledge of what it was like to be comforted, to be held in such a way from the moment they were born. It was a parent's job to instil such knowledge in their offspring - to show them life's passive affections and unconditional love. Lilin lacked fundamental values and up until now, it hadn't quite hindered her communal lifestyle. She hadn't perceived her upbringing as flawed until she had met people such as Saul, caring for their children in a way she never could have imagined. It was amazing how two persons of the same age could be in two completely different places mentally. Under different circumstances and in an orderly state of mind, perhaps she would've been more reticent about the connection they shared at that moment. It was unlike her to give in so willingly but at point in time, Saul's every movement was enough to dissuade whatever part of her felt like pulling away.
The gentle strokes on her back were a harbringer of sorts, notifying her body of the upcoming shift in positions. She allowed it, no verbal nor physical objections were made, save for the way her right hand clung to his corresponding arm. Her grip lightened only once his legs stretched out on each side of her and she understood that he was here to remain, if only for a little while longer. It was a welcomed fluctuation; his every limb acting as a cocoon she could only indulge in. Pain and anxiety thereafter slowly evolved into a lull hanging heavily over semi-closed eyelids. Soon it became his turn to talk and her dichotomous ears twitched with every syllable uttered, and she forced herself to take a deep breath before providing an answer worthy of understanding. This is where they would draw the line between their bloodlines, between the good and bad. Having the same ancestors did not make them alike, she knew. “My mother is heir to the cult of Azathoth. I found her wandering the jungle near their church's burnt down remains.” she explained then, pausing briefly to recollect her thoughts.
There was no better way to explain things than to break the rules and recite their prophecy to him; words Lillith lived by. “The blood of the wicked must be spilled,” she revealed as Ahren once had done to her dam in a dream. What had once been a bedtime lullaby passed down from Thavardo to her son had become her curse. “Through their destruction the new world can be brought about. Through fire and through ice come the trials. The first angel and the first demon will bring about the end of days, the sky will turn black, and the rivers will run red with blood.” Shamed, her blue irises rose to meet the window sill of her bedroom where she caught side of yet another lightning flash. “I'm unworthy of carrying on this legacy and for that, I've been shunned.” She awaited judgement then, knowing it would surely come now that she had, for the first time in her life, allowed a stranger to know of the cult.