( dear to us, alia says, and jessica's insides recoil in shame, an underground parasite flinching from searing light. from the moment he had been conceived, paul had always carried too much of her softness within him, an infection passed from her bloodstream to his. his mother's son, to the bitter end. watchful, jessica's eyes trace alia's slithering form in the mirror, silently frightened to find her heir to the same weakness. a mother's devotion can only shield them from so many blades, when they so recklessly welcome it against their flesh. )

Even children understand the purpose a beloved toy serves.

( knife-tongued as ever — cutting, in its dismissiveness, to spare them from greater wounds. she can trust her own to aim with precision; the same cannot be said for a nothing girl with ambition and the folly of her sentimental children, prone to end in nicked arteries. alia is young, paul moreso, beholden to the follies of youth — once the shine has dulled and teenage hormones have faded, they'll come to understand any toy, no matter how adored, has limited uses.

none of which bring them armies, protects their lineage, saves their house. jessica's lips thin into a taut, disapproving line. )

Your stance is too loose. ( her own remain fluid, undistracted in focus, not a step missed, despite the sharp correction. ) Have you been vigilant with your training?