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The little girl toddles to Lucanis. Brown eyes round with innocence as she tugs at the leg of his pants. Shooting him a familiar sly smile as she holds out a brush and hair tie. Waiting expectantly as he lays some missive onto his desk. A tired sigh as he makes time for the most important niña in his life.
There's a fierce softness to the way he leans down to sweep her into his lap. As skilled with the brush as the blades at his hip. Meticulous as he takes his time with the mess of red curls. A trait not inherited from the Dellamorte side for sure as Illario has pointed out more times than he can count.
Her tangles yield easily to his attention, and she sits perfectly still as he begins the slow process of parting and plaiting her hair into one loose braid down her back. The fine strands difficult to weave but worth it to see the joy on her face when he finishes with one kiss to the top of her head.
She bounces from his lap. Inspecting herself in the mirror in the corner with a wild giggle. Spinning as she grins. The small dagger at her hip clanging against her side. Gold bracelets around her wrist jingling with the motion.
His chest tightens with emotion as he comes to stand beside her. Inspecting the little spitfire that’s a perfect mixture of him and his greatest love. Their greatest creation. Her greatest gift to him.
The little ball of energy seems to sense the shift in him as she pauses. Her small hand closing around his fingers as she looks up at him. And despite the color of their daughters eyes, the look his niña gives him- is all her mother.
“Like mommy, right papa?” she asks with uncertainty. And the band around his heart constricts to the point of suffocation as a lone tear slips down his cheek.
“Just like her, princesa,” he whispers as he falls to his knees. Wrapping her small frame in a protective hug as he buries his face in her hair. Vanilla and cinnamon. Just like his lost Rook.
“And she would be so proud of you. Just like I am.”