The Feathers in a Crib PV

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Interacts. @Aurelia Notresvace ═══════════════════	xx	EN #664d00, GR, RU #A57865 23/12/2022 | In casual wear [x] ═══════════════════	xx	Mentions. - ═══════════════════

Lysander always believed that any young lady involved with him for this long would have had a proper introduction to the family by now. But given the circumstances of his and Aurelia’s relationship, it was best kept out of the public eye. When the tenth marked the arrival of someone too young to incriminate the couple, Lysander wrote for her presence at his father’s estate to meet the addition. In a way, it was as close to family, to normality, as things were going to get. He aspired to make the memory last.

He did not have to wait for long. Quietly reclined in the nursery’s rocking chair, Lysander lifted his head to scratching at the window and the form of the animagus who’d done it, her landing rocky but no less impressive. It was not uncommon for staff to retire late and rise early, preoccupied with their own duties and bustling gossip surrounding the property’s happenings. The current time was selected through careful, years long observation of servant habit. None should be active, but Lysander was prepared to guard and lie between his teeth if it came to it, for Aurelia was sneaking in tonight.

The first thing Lysander did after shutting the window was to bend down and kiss her. “You made it,” he repeated tenderly after pulling away, a hand raising to caress her cheek. Pressing against the small of her back, he wasted no time in guiding her past the mildly lit fireplace and to the boy’s bassinet where it was warmest, a silent apology for her turbulent travels. “No, but his nanny’s in the next chamber over.” It came out whispered above the wind from outdoors, a confirmation that they’d need to remain quiet. With his height he was easily able to peer down at his sibling, dimples deepening in his pride. Aurelia passed him a gift. “What do you think? I mean, a seventeen year gap between us is something, huh?”

The child was named Ernest. Lysander hadn’t made the connection at the time, but it was meant to pair with their sister’s Constance; two virtuous names chosen by parents that were anything but. Just thirteen days old, Ernest lay belly-up in his bassinet, tiny fists balled peacefully amid cotton white linens. Accentuated further by the gentle glow of candlelight, his hair appeared closer in colour to that of his mother’s, but it was likely to darken over time like most Stavrous. “For you, buddy,” Lysander said in half an octave higher, passing the stuffed owl over the railing as if presenting it. When he, still in deep sleep, responded with a reflexive grasp towards nothing, Lysander merely smiled and set the toy at the baby’s feet, where it would remain as long as the two of them were there to watch over him. “I’m certain he’ll love it regardless, Auri. I think owls rather fit him already.” It was thoughtful. Not ugly in the slightest.