--Brothers Keeper-- [Darcia Inner Thoughts]

"I loved his hands.

I remember the first time they stopped shaking—just once, just for a moment—and I held them like a mother might hold the tiny limbs of something newborn. So small. So scared. So easily twisted into something better.

His fingers were pale even then, trembling like they didn’t belong to him. But I knew. I knew if I held them long enough, warmed them, they would obey me. And they did.

Oh, Nimdok.

Even as children, you followed me without question. I never had to raise my voice, never had to scream the way they screamed at you. No—I whispered. And you listened. You always listened. Because you knew… I saw the greatness in you.

You were never broken, my love. You were only fragile—and I made you strong. Piece by piece. Whisper by whisper. Dose by dose.

You thought they hated you for your dreams. But it wasn’t your dreams. It was the shine in your eyes. The way you saw things. The colors you painted in your head that no one else could see. I loved that in you. I still do. It’s what makes you mine.

Your eyes were always the first to falter. You remember, don’t you? How they twitched when I read too fast? How they watered when the light was too loud? I used to think you were broken… until I saw how you looked at me.

So full of awe.

And when Father called you names—filthy names, cutting names—I held you through every lash. I bandaged you. I kissed your bruises. I named your pain. And when it was time, I taught you how to make it stop.

You weren’t the one who screamed that night. I was. It was me.

But they blamed you.

And still, still you smiled at me through the red. You looked at me like I was an angel. Like my hands were clean.

Darling, they were never clean. Not since the first taste of belladonna. Not since the garden. Not since I learned how much silence a body can hold once it stops breathing.

But you, Nimdok... you are so much quieter now. So soft. So obedient.

And yet I see the flicker.

The bats still sing to you. I know. They chirp behind your eyes and flap in your fingers when you try to sew. I try, my dearest, I try to hush them. But perhaps I shouldn’t. Perhaps they’re part of your song now.

You hum when you carve. That’s when I love you most.

The way your tail curls. The way your tongue wets your lips without knowing. The way you pause before the final cut… just like me. You don’t even realize it. You mirror me, as you always have.

You’re perfect.

You’re so perfect.

They’ll never understand you like I do. They’ll never see the art in your eyes, or the tenderness in your blade.

But I will. I always will.

And when the world comes knocking—when they shout, when they cry, when they try to pull you away—I will do what I’ve always done.

I will wrap you in my arms.

I will dose you with sweet tea and softer voices.

I will hold you.

And if they try to take you from me, Nimdok… I’ll feed them to the garden.

With love,
—Darcia"
(Your sister. Your keeper. Your cure.)