HONEY, fred weasley

𝖔. ⸻ milk and honey

( NOVEMBER, 1987 )

REECE HAYES CALMLY rocks herself on the rocking chair of the perfectly curved hues of a lukewarm, mahogany English oak, bathing itself in the soft, golden sun rays. As she rocks back on her tarnished, chestnut chair, the illuminating, radiant sunbeam captures her long, dark lashes and a pair of thick spiced, honey-brown eyes, filled with the rich, golden hums from the heart of the universe. The delicate brown freckles that sparkle on her dark skin like a galaxy of a million stars, with the yearning desire to be explored. A map of sun-kissed wrinkles sweetly hums on the creases on her face. Her gorgeous darkened curls, like the night sky, cascade down her shoulders, with the hues of grey, ripples throughout the shades of black. There was a soft, melodious clattering noise to her knitting needles that were perched on her lap as if they were having their own conversation with the delicate, silky yarn.

A woolen amber blanket she knits with the flourishing of the sweet humming of her gentle, warm-hued fingers. The blanket is woven with her love and affection, with her sweet aromas of milk and honey warmly drinking in its vanilla warmth, dancing against the golden, euphoric sun across her darkened skin. A blanket is woven for a mother's love for her daughter. Her light and soul against death's poison, murky waters. Her cocoon of milk and honey warmth battling against the creased wings of the lavender and gold fluorescence.

A blanket is woven for her love of her Evangeline and Honora.

Evangeline Hayes delicately hums, cradling her precious, doll-faced newborn to her chest, and darling she is, she's like a little teddy bear with her chubby dark face freshly peppered with those tiny, faint golden freckles. Like a whirlwind of pastel, sugared stardust that makes the pale moon glisten with the innocence and purity of jubilation. The glosses darkened curls coating her tiny toes peeking out from the woolen amber blanket that coats her mother and her. The newborn slightly twitches her button-like, freckled nose, ingesting in her mother's rich scent of milk and honey, ticking and warming up her tiny insides, making them flutter like butterflies. A gentle, lull coo escapes her young, rosy-hued lips, as she tries to open those angelic honey-brown eyes that had been kissed by the heavens above. A feeble smile etches at Eva's lips, wanting to drink in the moment of watching her baby girl on her chest. The honey-brown eyes with sweeping eyelashes that had been passed down for generations, illuminating from off the radiant, synthetic sun rays. She feels so warm and light and smelled like sugar and spices, clashing against her scents of lukewarm butterfly milk, embraced from the silvery, symphonic ripples of the rich, ambrosial oceans.

"Hello, little Honey Bear," Eva gingerly coos, sparsely grazing her thumb over the newborn's sun-kissed freckled cheek, "did you have a nice nap?"

The youthful bundle of joy sneezes in response, burying herself deeper in the crook of Eva's neck, seeking for the milk and honey warmth. A lavender, warmish chuckle flutters in Eva's throat, as she pulls the woolen amber blanket closer over her and her baby girl. The blanket is woven with her love and affection, with her sweet aromas of milk and honey warmly drinking in its vanilla warmth, dancing against the golden, euphoric sun across her darkened skin. A blanket is woven for a mother's love for her daughter. Her light and soul against death's poison, murky waters. Her cocoon of milk and honey warmth battling against the creased wings of the lavender and gold fluorescence.

"Sleep tight my little, Honora."

Years passed on like the rain-soaked Sunday afternoons. With the enduring memories of rosy-hued cheeks, star dusted cheeks, euphoric giggles, sun-kissed freckles, rich honey-brown eyes, buttery pastries, lavender warmth, and memories drinking deeply of the milk and honey. With the euphoric, ethereal stars that made the pale moon tremble with jealousy. No more did a newborn baby lay tucked in on her mother's chest. She'd flourished like the golden, young jasmine she was becoming to be.

A blanket is woven for a mother's love for her daughter. Her light and soul against death's poison, murky waters. Her cocoon of milk and honey warmth battling against the creased wings of the lavender and gold fluorescence. A blanket is woven for the love of  Evangeline and Honora. The mother-daughter duo is like a twinkling star, enhancing and bright. Making your insides tickle all over with the pastel, tiny stardust. But one of them loses her creased wings of the lavender and gold fluorescence to cocoon the other with the aroma of milk and honey together

Thanks for reading !! <33

PUBLISHED : 8/27/20
LAST EDITED : 1/28/21