WALPURGIA ✔️

Chapter 38 - My lovely daughter

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The months passed by me so quickly that I didn't mind. I was busy tending to my little girl, making sure she had everything she needed.

It was March now.

Esme was officially six months old.

My birthday was approaching too. But I didn't feel as if I would age; the slow altering had begun.

Esme wriggled happily as I kissed her feet, as I blew raspberries on her soft stomach. I fixed her black curls and our little daughter responded. She let out happy sounds, not a full laugh yet, smiling.

Her face lit up, beamed, with the intensity of a thousand suns.

"My little beauty", I never felt prouder, happier. I kissed her soft, full cheek several times, took in her sweet baby scent. As sweet as wild; storm and forest mingled together peacefully.

Esme gurgled, stretched and reached out for me, her amber eyes – my eyes – holding a glint in them; happiness, blissful naivety about our situation.

Her tiny fist caught my curls and I let her tug on my hair, let her nibble on it. The smile on her face was too beautiful to deny. A corner of her mouth higher than the other, revealing slight dimples. Baldwin through and through. She kicked against my arms, happy. Her magic radiated through me, warming my heart up.

"How much your papa would love you", I mumbled, sighing. "He would shower you in kisses! You could pull on his beard all you like! He would sing every song to you, in every language he knew!"

Esme giggled, pulling my curls more. Did she already understand me?

"Papa loves Esmena as much – even ... even if he isn't here with us", I tried to withstand crying.
Esme's smile disappeared. 

How would I raise her on my own? How would I raise her correctly?

I was so scared - so scared and alone.

I felt guilty.

Esme didn't deserve this kind of life – withheld from love, from freedom.

I tried not to let those dark thoughts wash over me and nuzzled my head against hers. Esme smiled again.

"Don't be sad little one", I swallowed hard.

Baldwin would have loved my name choice – Esmena, or our favourite form of it: Esme. It had been the name of a strong witch in his times, a well-known name in my community. We both loved the name dearly.

Esmena Melissa.

Esmena, or shorter, Esme.

Esme.

Her name meant 'loved'.

And that she was.

I traced her face, the same structure as his.

"You are loved, Esme", I couldn't manage more than a whisper. Hot tears streamed down my face, landing on her belly. "We love you, little one. More than you could ever imagine."

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My teachers didn't mind, or pretended not to, when I tagged Esme along to my lessons. I had tied her around me, which made her gurgle happily constantly, all while I practiced my disarming spells, my curses, my blessings.