A Witch's Goal

3.

You aren't dumb. You're well aware that Lord Sullivan is suspicious of you. Sending Balam Shichiro (the Gargoyle) your way, just to make sure you aren't lying. You are many things, not one of them is dumb.

Still, you push down the feelings of frustration deep inside you. You couldn't let your emotions get the best of you, especially now that you're closer to your goal. All you have to do is find it.

You hope that you find it.

But finding it will have to be tomorrow, because right now you have other matters at hand.

You have to go home.

Home is a place that you rarely ever welcome in your life, if you could, you'd much rather do something else than stay at home. But someone is waiting for you when the day turns dark, he will start to cry when you aren't in his sight.

"Mama, welcome home." A voice greets you the moment you enter, and at the same time, a small body launches itself against your legs. "How was your day?"

Atticus, a child you didn't want. But someone you needed.

Taking care of a child is something you weren't exactly expecting to do in an early part of your life, but you have learned to go along with it. Atticus isn't yours. But you like to pretend that he is.

You brought Atticus into your arms, carrying him while nuzzling your head against his neck. He wrapped his tiny arms around your neck, giggling at the gesture. "I had a good day today. How was yours?"

"I learned how to bring my stuffies to me!" He exclaimed happily, as you gently put him down.

Atticus looked too much like you. Same hair color, same skin tone, and the same eye color. His horns curled at the top, complete and unbroken. Although, most wouldn't know of his eye color since his bangs were far too long to even see it.

Most would think Atticus is a girl. His curly hair ended at his waist. He also quite liked flowy clothes, always preferring to wear the numerous child sized cloaks and capes that you made for him.

"Really?" You hummed, a smile on your face as you removed your heels to enter the living room. "I want to see."

Atticus took your hand, leading you to sit on the couch as he walked to the center of the room. He picked up one of his stuffed toys (a light blue bird) and placed it on your lap.

He went back to the center of the room, cheeks puffed up as he raised his arms forward.

True to his words, the stuffed toy shakily started to float towards him. It was slow and shaky, but it never fell.

When the stuffed toy finally reached him, you clapped at his achievement. He responded with a bright smile, rushing to your side immediately to happily talk about how hard it was.

And you let him be.

He deserves to be happy.

So while you cooked dinner and set up the table, you let Atticus talk. When the two of you finished eating and when you finished washing the dishes, you let Atticus talk. You answered every now and then, but hearing him talk made you far happier than replying. And as you bathed him and tucked him into bed, you let Atticus talk until he tired himself out, cuddling into the same stuffed toy he used for his demonstration.

"Goodnight Atty." You moved his bangs to the side, revealing large sleepy eyes. You smiled softly, placing a soft kiss on his forehead.

"Nighty night, Mama." He yawned, his eyes already closed.

--&--

Early Mornings are your reprieve. In the stillness of a gentle good morning, you find yourself often being lulled back to sleep. Though, you resist the temptations as always.