What the...?
It was a rare afternoon when the sprawling apartment of the Aristipossos family existed in perfect silence. Cressida smiled vaguely to herself as she folded tiny shirt after tiny shirt and set them atop each other on the dining room table. One ear was always listening for the whimpers of her children but it seemed that naptime, that day at least, was a success with all small creatures dreaming sweetly so that she could finish the unending little domestic things. The truth was, of course, that she loved them. Cressida had put aside her fashion designs two months prior and had yet to regret it. If there was one thing that she and her partner had learned over the many, many years, it was that there was always more time for things.
The children were first. Always.
A bit dreamily, Cressida lifted a small sock. Before she could locate the matching one, however, she gasped. There was a strange warmth at her throat. She dropped the sock and lifted her hands to clutch at the necklace that looped her neck, that had sat there since she had received it from Leon months and months ago. Now it seemed to twitch against her palms, heating up slowly. It wasn't painful but... She squeaked a bit and tried to reach behind her neck to undo it. Her fingers fumbled and her panic grew.
"Leon!" she hissed, hoping her voice would carry, praying she was not about to awaken her children.
Her erstwhile partner was sitting at the kitchen bench, circling properties and tapping his pen against the table absently; he looked up when Cressida hissed, not at all worried until he saw her face. When he looked at her expression, he stood up immediately with a slight clatter from his chair, crossing the room and moving his hands over hers as though they had some kind of psychic connection. (They did not, except one borne out of years of being together.)
Leon fumbled with the necklace catch until - after a few breathless minutes - both of them managed to get it off, and he dropped it on the table. He said a fairly long and fairly coarse oath in Greek.
"Don't touch it again," he said.
She looked up at him with shimmering violet eyes, her tears more from the shock of it all than any real sort of pain. She stepped closer to him and wrapped her arms around one of his, resting her temple against his bicep as she stared at the necklace on the table. It glowed now. "What... What's it doing?" she whispered.
"Damned if I know," he said, eyes never leaving it as he shifted to get in front of Cressida - unconsciously protective - and stood his ground. "I don't like it one bit, though."
She was quiet for a moment and then Cressida gasped again, clutching at the back of her fiancé’s shirt. "Leon," she whispered. "It wants me to pick it up again. It's crying for me."
The man next to her turned and looked at her, plainly not understanding: at the jewelry and then back at his lover's face, necklace, her eyes. "... Are you sure," he eventually said. "Are you sure it's not trying to trick you?"
"No." Cressida's soft voice sounded strained now and her fingers twisted at the fabric of his shirt. "It's like our babies, darling. She's crying to be held. She's lonely and I've just... Oh, I've just left her there."
It was plain to see that he did not want her touching it again. However, it was knotting Cressida up in quiet misery: so Leontas moved aside and touched the corner of the table as though that would somehow protect her. "Pick it up," he said.
He did not need to repeat himself. Permission given, the petite brunette practically sprang back to the table and slipped the necklace into her cupped hands. "Hush, baby," she cooed soothingly, all of her focus on the item, "it's okay. Mommy has you. I'm sorry. I didn't know."
The purple stone glowed brighter at her attention but the warmth was not so shocking anymore. Instead, Cressida felt it like warm sunshine and she smiled. "That's my girl. Are you better now?" The glow strengthened until the stone was radiating fiercely and a sort of mist started to appear just above it yet still cradled in her hands.
Usually, in a family where a mother starts talking to her necklace, it would be cause for concern. Then again, the youngest son had a horse's tail, and the youngest daughter slept in a paddling-pool, so Leon had absolutely no worry for his love's sanity. He stood close to her shoulder and watched as she cooed to the stone: it was definitely glowing, in response to Cressida's words like a heartbeat. "... You can tell it's a girl?"
Cressida barely glanced at him. "Of course. She's so pretty. Girls are always pretty." She shifted it slightly in the cup of her hands so she could bend a finger back to touch the stone. It flickered at the contact and the mist darkened and coalesced some more. "You're so lovely, my dear, aren't you?"
Leon pulled up a chair for her: he stood behind it, hands loosely on the back, watching patiently as she smiled at the rock. "I will just say," he said, "that I swear I didn't buy that for you expecting it to... wake up."
"Mmhm." She was distracted and only managed to sit safely by virtue of his tender care; Cressida was far too focused on the expanding phenomenon in her hands. Now the mist moved upwards and shaped itself. By squinting closely, she could make out the suggestion of limbs and a head and a torso. "Oh, you're gorgeous," she murmured. "Leon, my love, can you see her?"
Leon peered over her shoulder again and shaded his eyes: if he looked very carefully - and especially if he looked out the corner of his eye - he could see something beginning to take form, a humanoid shape, more a suggestion of a wisp than of anything actually tangible. "Yes," he said, and felt relief that neither of them were going mad.
As the moments passed, the shape became clearer. The necklace remained in Cressida's palm but she instinctively changed her posture, straightening and curving her arms in much the same way she did when it had come time to cuddle Annie close, a gentle rocking motion. Flickers of yellow appeared amongst the lavenders. "Come along, sweetie," Cressida encouraged gently. "We're here. You're safe."
It was definitely a third thing for Cressida to mother: because he loved her more than he loved the world and everything contained therein, Leon did not sigh, but merely kept looking at the thing coming to life in her arms. He'd have to go back to that shop and make a note of this. "Mm," he said non-commit tally, trying to be encouraging.
Cressida was humming softly now, an old lullaby that had put Quixana and then Anemone to bed a mere half hour before. The mist drifted across her arms as if the creature was trying to curl up in the welcoming arms. Pale yellow began to concentrate at one end and the purples faded off into a tapering tail. Suddenly, there was a shimmer and shift in what could only be the head area; a pair of sleepy-looking violet eyes blinked open. Unnervingly, they resembled Cressida's own pretty eyes. She gasped.
He put his hand on her shoulder and was a strong, warm presence at her back, absurdly soothing. The little creature's eyes did - fairly strangely - resemble his lover's own: that, at least, made him feel sympathetic towards the little thing. "She is pretty," he said, despite himself.
"She's -lovely-."
As if reacting to the dual praise, the creature closed her eyes and concentrated for a final push. Within moments, a small, somewhat ghostly child only about the size of Cressida's forearm lay curled up in her new mother's arms. Her visible skin was pale, buttery yellow, emphasized by a tumble of uneven curls that glowed a watercolor-picture mix of pansy blue and violet. A tiny little heart-shaped barrette held back a curl. There was no mouth or nose to her round little face but her eyes reopened and shone with hopeful light; she was going to have no trouble making her feelings known with her gaze.
Cressida beamed. "Hello, sweetheart," she whispered.
If the obvious love and affection in Cressida's voice had not won him over, the fragile, careful curve of her shoulders as she held the new arrival would have. Leon just mentally sighed and noted that they were going to move to a new house -anyway- - and reached over to lay his hand on her arm, near the little thing, very gently. His head tilted in obvious hello; he watched every small, tentative movement. "Well," he said, "that makes three."
"Three perfect children," his partner agreed. She gingerly touched a loose curl and watched as the sprite in her arms shivered. "She needs a name that's as lovely as she is. Something that suits a jewel."
"You have a womanly way about you," said her partner, "you pick good names... something sweet. Or you could pick your name, and she could be your diminutive. Cressida?"
She shook her head. "No, every little girl should have her own name." She considered the little being. "She's not at all an Artemis or a Daphne."
"Goddess nor sylph," he said, and he tucked a lock of Cressida's dark hair out of the way as he considered the little child. "Sprite, maybe. Or Grace.... Charis?"
Cressida looked up and her eyes shone with delight. "You're so clever, my love," she giggled. "Though I think Charis is too... Old for her. She's just a little thing. How does Charissa sound to you?"
"Little grace," he said, and he was resigned - she was named, she was Cressida's baby, they had a third child and their two children were going to have to deal with the fact that they were not the only babies. From long, childless years, they were both parents. And how. "It suits. I'll go make sure she has somewhere to sleep. We might as well seal the deal on the house, as well."
That drew Cressida's attention and she stood, careful not to jar the sprite in her arms. Charissa looked around sleepily and stayed put; she seemed perfectly content to be carried for the moment. Crossing to where Leon had left his papers, she peered at the myriad of circles. Then she smiled. "Let's," she laughed and everything about her glowed nearly as bright as the sprite she held. "Let's find our new, proper home."
