#i haven't stopped rereading this ask since you sent it SOB they mean everything to me... thank you

[amiterum]

‧ ₊˚ @peerlessscowl asked:

His fingers tapped at the wood of the box gently. He'd been standing just at the end of the hall for a few minutes now, considering the thing in his hands in silence - Raven was sure that he was drawing looks by his presence here, so long without moving, but it wasn't the eyes of outsiders that drew him short. It was the pair of eyes that waited for him. Or might have, if he'd announced his coming. He hadn't forgotten, how could he have, and despite the fact that she had not forgotten him, either, there was that part of him that wavered, that shadowed corner of his heart that might have pressed that she was better off if he left her be. To her new life, her new friends. Her new family. Raven frowned, tipping the lid of the box open just so with one finger, letting it clap shut before it could reveal its contents. He hadn't kept much, hadn't the time to grab all that he'd wanted, but what he did have in his possession was priceless, one of a kind in his heart if not in reality. He took the final strides to her room, knocked once - too brisk - then another, softer, before he took a breath and tried the door. "Priscilla." His greeting was more curt than he meant it, and for a moment he couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes, keeping his focus on the box in his hands before, finally, raising his head to meet her gaze. "I...I'm not sure if you remember," remembered, as he did, the long nights before the hearth, the roaring fire that served as backdrop for their father's favorite stories, "but I've...kept some things. I wanted you to have this." He extended his arm, holding the box for her to take, the motion tender and vulnerable, as if he were offering her a piece of his body, not merely a small, inornate wooden box, its varnish long stripped from handling. If Priscilla were to take the box, she might notice the small key that protrudes from one side - it is a music box. If she turns the key and opens the lid, she will hear what might have been a very familiar lullaby.

She would never dare to admit such a selfish thing, and yet in all of the days leading up to this one, Priscilla has not been able to shake the thought of what her brother would do.

Would he greet her first thing in the morning? Would he give her a gift, perhaps accompany her to dinner? Had he thought about it every year the same as she had his?

Or had he forgotten-- would she meet his gaze across the dining hall and see nothing different than any other morning?

Priscilla tells herself that it doesn't matter. She could hardly blame him, had he truly forgotten. His being alive was a gift enough, every moment at his side worth more to her than any silly birthday present could ever be.

Her thumb and index finger turn a tarnished ring around once, thrice-- over and over and over. She lays flat on a still-made bed, watching the ceiling as she mulls over the same thought.

It doesn't matter. It will be fine.

The knock at her door sends her scrambling to her feet, that chorus in her mind immediately forgotten. She smooths her wrinkled skirt, tucks the ring on its chain back beneath the collar of her shirt, and watches the door as though she is afraid she might have imagined the sound.

When it opens-- when she sees him-- suddenly the world has never been brighter.

Gently, she accepts his offering. It trades hands so slowly, so carefully, that Priscilla has to remind herself to breathe once its weight has settled fully upon her own. Her eyes don't move from it, wide with awe. For a moment she is a girl no taller than her father's knee, her life is still one bright canvas instead of its pieced together remains.

"I... How could I ever forget..?"

As though in a daze, she steps to her bedside table. The little box is lowered carefully and Priscilla sinks to her knees before it, never once looking away as she turns the key and raises its top.

When next she turns to look at her brother, tears have already begun their descent upon her cheeks. She stands slowly, hands trembling at her sides, and seems to falter a moment.

But only a moment, for in the next she has flung her arms around her brother's shoulders, face buried in the collar of his shirt. It is a rush of emotion she has swallowed since they reunited, broken free from the carefully protected cage of her chest.

Through tears, she manages only three words for the thousands gone unsaid.

"Thank you, Raymond."