Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 64359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“Put me down,” I say to Emrys. “I need to check the baby.”
He lets me go, and I smooth my skirt down over my ravaged nethers before walking past Atlas with the most demure expression I can muster.
I clean up before I go to the baby, washing my sensitive areas and restoring myself to some semblance of propriety. I change my dress and I brush my hair and I ensure that there are no little flecks of dinner on my body.
As I wash I reflect that I don’t actually mind this little life. It is small, and it is simple, but Atlas is right… it is safe. I am safe from the world outside, and the aliens who still have bones to pick with me. More importantly, I am safe from my own broken impulses.
The baby is sleeping when I go into his room. I know better than to wake him and start the cycle of feeding again. Instead, I stand next to the crib and look down at his innocent, sweet, fanged face. This baby is part human, part numahn, and a whole lot of Emrys. His existence is a beautiful miracle that came out of a terrible travesty. When I am under the influence of the simulation, all I see is my perfect child. Now, I see every bit of suffering that went into his creation. I could erase it all by surrendering to Atlas again. But I don’t know if I should. Life is pain, and I am beginning to believe that sometimes it is important to remember that overcoming suffering is the only way to be happy.
I hear Atlas come into the room behind me. Only he would be foolish enough to follow me. The others have what they wanted, and know how I relish these moments with Rhys.
“You can’t keep erasing everything,” I tell Atlas. “And please, take that suit off. I want to see you for what you really are.”
My scythkin husband hesitates. “But the programming is only going to get more broken if I appear before you that way. You’ve been safe and happy with it intact. If it wasn’t for those two fools…”
“I’m not happy. I’m a shadow of myself. Even if you could permanently erase everything about me you think is challenging or sad, it wouldn’t leave me better. It would leave me empty.
Atlas sighs and unzips himself. My mild-mannered handsome husband turns into the shining dark monster once more, his hardened carapace gleaming in the nursery light. His face is always harder to read in this form, because it is so brutal.
A scythkin warrior has no business in a nursery. I see that immediately, even though he has none of his blades extended. What on earth am I asking for? What right do I have to try to be myself, when my true self is so terribly dangerous?
With my mind finally functioning properly for the first time in a while, I find myself understanding Atlas’ intentions more and more. He just wants things to be nice.
“I don’t like being like this around Rhys,” he says. “It’s not safe. He shouldn’t see me like this.”
“He should see you exactly like this. He should see you for who you are, not for who you are trying to pretend to be. He won’t ever know what truth is if he lives inside a lie.”
“Why can’t he live inside a pleasant little lie, at least for a while? Why can’t you? Why can’t we all? It doesn’t have to be a lie if we all believe in it. Life can be good, and simple, and nice. You are happy, most of the time.”
“What if we lived this life, but we left my brain alone?”
“You won’t stay here,” he says, sorrowfully. “You’ll become bored.”
“You don’t know that. I don’t know what being bored is anymore. I have my baby, and probably another on the way. I have mothering to do, Atlas. I don’t have time to steal your ship again, promise.”
Atlas frowns at me. “You say that today, but one day the children will be grown…”
“Kronos is going to want to take his babies to his world,” I remind him. “We have a great many obligations outside the ones you and I might share. I know you want to keep me safe. I know you want things to be easy, but…”
“Why must there always be a but?” The great, terrifying scythkin sighs.
“Because… life?”
“Because life,” he sighs, in what might be an admission.
We both look down at our sleeping son. Rhys has no idea what the universe is like as yet. He does not know where he came from, or what he came from. All he knows is that he is loved, and he is provided for. His needs are met and his world is everything he needs it to be.