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─── ୭🧷✧˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀 EVANGELINE CLARKE HAD BEEN A MOM AT A YOUNG AGE. Not literally, seven had been far too young to have a child, but she had always felt like a mother. When James Clarke had been born, there had been a story. Her mother loved to tell her, Her brown eyes would light up as she spoke of her baby boy. She would share photos and recount the very first time she had laid eyes on him.
When Evangeline was born, there had been pictures. Her father had smiled and spoke of how blue her eyes were, just like his. He'd beam as he said there was a certain spark in her eyes, something that told him he was her daughter.
When Emilia Clarke was born, there was no story. There were no pictures or smiles.
There were simply two tired parents, an older brother who didn't care, and a scared seven year old who had to carry what felt like the weight of the world on her shoulders.
“What if I hurt her” the seven year old whispered, scared the loud tone would scare the newborn baby her father had placed in her hands. She had never seen her father like this, with dark circles underneath his eyes this deep. There was a lack of glint in his eyes, a typical gleam that made her father himself. Now, it was fizzled out like a candle without its light.
“You won't” he reassured, placing himself onto the lilac purple couch. Her mother had gone straight for her bed when she had gotten home, and her brother had followed, refusing to leave her side, leaving her new baby sister with her father and her.
“But, can't you hold her,” she murmured.
“I'm just” he struggled to find the word “I'm just tired right now” he eventually let out.
“Oh” she seated herself next to him, trying not to disrupt the baby in her arms “take a quick nap and then take her” she decided.
“It's not the kinda tired a nap can fix” his voice was quiet.
Evangeline tilted her head at that. Confusion laced her soft features, but her father simply moved a strand of raven hair from her face.
“You take care of her alright”.
Her lower lip wobbled, but she nodded. The little girl didn't exactly know why, but there was a heavy churn in her gut.
She focused her eyes back on the baby in her arms. Everything about it was so small. It almost made the girl feel uncomfortable, like the baby would suddenly break in her grip. (She didn't). Her soft, doe eyes opened, staring into hers. She cooed, and Evangeline let out a soft smile.
She turned to look at her father, but his eyes were shut, his breathing even.
Her eyes glanced back down to her sister's. The baby giggled softly.
