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Today's adventure had been…a lot.
Of course, Pomni should have expected that when Caine announced that morning that today's adventure would be 4D chess…literally, a four-dimensional chess adventure where the cast had to jump up and down levitating checkered platforms in order to move their pieces. Not exactly an easy feat for the shortest member of the circus, who constantly found herself scrabbling desperately to hoist herself up over the edge of each platform and stumbling every time she jumped down from one, ultimately resulting in a sprained ankle that had sent her to the sidelines while everyone else finished the game. It wasn't exactly fun watching everyone else locked in battle while relegated to a lone bench in the designated "loser corner" with an ice pack on her throbbing foot, but maybe it was better this way.
It didn't help matters much that Pomni had already been having one of…those days, a day where dragging herself out of her own bed had felt like an insurmountable feat and pulling herself out of her own brooding thoughts had proven to be impossible. The moment she'd opened her eyes, feeling the familiar tightness in her chest wringing out her lungs and the ominous weight of dread mixed with anxiety pressing down on her like a wet wool blanket, she knew it was going to be a long and miserable day. But somehow, she'd scrounged up just enough energy to get up from her bed, walk to the main stage, and join everyone else in time for the day's adventure to start, plastering on a strained smile as she pretended that her heart wasn't drumming an erratic beat against her ribcage and her stomach wasn't churning with panic-induced nausea she didn't know how to explain. If she could just grin and bear it, maybe she could get through the day without crumbling apart until she could return to the sanctuary of her room later that night and force herself into sleep mode before she had a chance to puzzle out her spiraling thoughts.
It wasn't like she hadn't experienced days like this countless times before, back in her old life. On the contrary, she was unfortunately very accustomed to the horrible sensation of waking up in the morning suffocated by the feeling that something was wrong, but her brain just couldn't parse out what. Even when she ran through her mental checklists and found nothing of concern, even when she reminded herself that everything was taken care of and she had nothing to worry about, that unshakable feeling of wrongness remained with her, crushing her chest with unfounded fear and burning like a smoldering coal in the pit of her stomach. But that was what nearly a lifetime of poorly managed anxiety tended to do to a person who had wasted so many years trying to prove herself to others and feeling like she was broken when she failed instead of accepting it was other people who had failed her time and again. Things had gotten marginally better for her when she'd finally gotten diagnosed and at least had a stronger sense of direction when it came to controlling her anxiety, settling on a combination of therapy and medication capped off by sleeping pills to mitigate (but somehow never cure) her insomnia, a routine that mercifully made her feel functional and human for perhaps the first time in her whole life. Of course, she still had those days, a lot more often than she wished she would, but it felt a little easier to bear when she knew it wouldn't last forever.
But then…the circus happened.
It wasn't that Pomni couldn't hold her own—she'd gotten pretty used to taking care of herself and learning how to adapt quickly, if only for the sake of preserving her own independence when others had tried to act like they knew her needs better than she did, so she'd adjusted a little better to her new surroundings than she had expected. But that didn't change the fact that now, trapped in a bizarre digital realm where she had been cut off from anything and everything she'd ever held dear in her old life, she could no longer access the treatments that she depended on to keep herself balanced, the signs of which were becoming more noticeable day by day.
Her symptoms were further compounded by the circus setting itself. It was bad enough being imprisoned in an inescapable digital hellscape, but of course it just had to be a color-drenched sensory nightmare of a prison at that. The eye-searing primary colors splashed across every inch of the grounds, the tinny circus music piping through the tent on a constant loop, the constrictive romper and tight-fitting hat she was forced to wear twenty-four-seven, the unpredictable adventures that ranged anywhere from "mildly aggravating" to "irreversibly traumatic"…all of these ingredients whirled together into a terrible cocktail of sensory overload that forced itself down her throat every single day, cloying and overwhelming.
Frankly, Pomni had never been much of a fan of circuses. And if she ever got out of here (she never would, she was never getting out, she was never getting out), she swore to herself she would never set foot in one ever again as if her life depended on it.
Today, it hadn't taken much for her to reach that nearly unbearable point of overstimulation. She'd already started out feeling jittery and "off" thanks to her ramped-up anxiety, but as the adventure got underway and the day's chaos unfolded, she found herself rapidly spiraling as each one of her already hypersensitive senses were tested to the very edge of their limits. She stiffened as the other players bumped and brushed against her in their haste to leap from platform to platform. She cringed every time the buzzer tolled, a grating high-pitched sound that reverberated through her skull and contributed to a mounting headache, whenever a player stumbled off a platform or lost a point (the point system being so oddly convoluted and confusing for a game of chess—how else would Caine figure out how to get six people to play a game of chess at one time, after all—that Pomni hadn't even bothered trying to make sense of it). She tried her hardest to ignore the sticky sweat dampening the back of her romper and making it cling to her back, the beads of sweat gathering under the thick brim of her oppressive hat, the way her scalp itched and her sleeves and shorts brushed the wrong way against her skin, sending an agonizing tingle zipping along her unraveling nerves. No one else seemed to notice that she was on the verge of a meltdown, not that she could blame anyone for not catching any warning signs. Pomni had learned by now how to conceal her symptoms well, waiting until she could hide out in the privacy of her room (or, back when this would happen when she still had her job in the outside world, the dubious privacy of a corner stall in the women's bathroom) to finally break down in peace.
It was almost a relief to be removed from the game and simply watch the rest from the sidelines, but it still didn't offer Pomni much of a reprieve from her own mind, from herself. As she sat on the bench, awkwardly shifting the ice pack on her ankle, she was still acutely aware of every single one of her senses that had gone haywire over the course of the day and were still in a state of high alert. Her skin still burned everywhere she'd been accidentally touched, the overpowering compulsion to claw her flesh into bloody shreds consuming her until she had to physically sit on her own twitching hands to stop herself from acting on it. Her ears rang, still in too close proximity to all the noise for her liking, and she swore she could feel the onset of a migraine building up the longer she had to squint against the bright lights and nauseatingly saturated colors. Add to that her perpetually buzzing thoughts and her now-swollen ankle that pulsed in time to the staccato bursts of her heartbeat, and it felt safe to say she was this close to some kind of meltdown. At the very least, she was on edge and mentally exhausted and more than ready to get away from here, now.
But finally—mercifully—the game ended, with a baffled-looking Kinger being proclaimed the winner, seemingly having no clue how he'd achieved such a feat. Caine transported the gang back to the circus with a snap of his fingers, depositing them in the large central room near the main stage. Pomni kept completely still, her eyes squeezed shut against the retina-searing colors of the tent as she waited for her stomach to settle down again, silently bemoaning the fact that Caine's method of transportation still triggered such awful motion sickness episodes in her. Once she felt like the threat of vomiting had sufficiently passed, she let her eyelids flutter back open.
Finally. Home, sweet…circus tent.
The same place she'd been sent back to yesterday after the daily adventure. And the day before that. And the one before that one. And every single day ever since she'd made the worst mistake of her life and put that stupid headset on. Home, but not home. It would never be home.
Pomni's breath wavered as she sighed to herself. Suddenly, she was so, so tired, the kind of exhaustion that steeped deep into her bones and weighed her whole body down, her limbs moving with an inexplicable resistance like she was trying to walk underwater. A headache tapped away at her temples, persistent enough to render her unable to focus on anything else. And everything around her was still too bright, too loud, the echo of carnival music playing somewhere in the tent and the low drone of conversation carrying on around her suddenly too much to bear. She didn't feel like joining everyone else at the couches in the main room where they all usually gathered to vent and decompress after an adventure, the way she normally did. All she wanted right now was to be alone, ensconcing herself in the darkness and silence of her room, and give her brain a chance to reset itself.
She didn't even say anything to her fellow circus members first. It wasn't that she wanted to be rude and leave them to wonder where she went—right now she was so tired and overwhelmed that she literally, physically could not speak. She tried to open her mouth, but she could not for the life of her form the words and vocalize a single one of her jumbled thoughts, not even so much as a "I'm going to bed, see you guys tomorrow." It was an extremely annoying side effect of overstimulation for her, that even her ability to speak would evade her as the rest of her shut down. She'd be fine after some rest…probably. But it frustrated her that her own malfunctioning brain could rob her of such a basic human ability as speech just because she couldn't handle another second of light or noise or color.
She was just hobbling slowly toward the stairs that would lead her to the hallway containing their rooms, when a voice beckoned to her from behind.
"Hey, Pomni…?"
Pomni immediately tensed, her shoulders hunching as her whole body went rigid. Great. Of course it had to be Ragatha who would notice her departure. Pomni loved Ragatha, she really did, and in time she had learned that the doll's doting ways were just how she expressed care and concern rather than an effort to single her out specifically and baby her. Pomni hated feeling infantilized, something that had happened far too often in her old life, and after a long conversation they'd had not long ago to air out some of the tension between them Ragatha now understood this and was always careful to mind herself with Pomni. In turn, Pomni did learn to appreciate it a little more when Ragatha sometimes fussed over her out of genuine concern, something she wasn't accustomed to from anyone she'd left behind in the real world…but in her current condition, Pomni couldn't deal with the fretting and the barrage of well-meaning but imposing questions that would surely ensue when she found out Pomni wasn't feeling well. Pomni knew it would only come from the kindness of Ragatha's heart, but well-intentioned as it would be, Pomni didn't think she could take being in the presence of another person for more than five seconds without caving in on herself.
But…she didn't want Ragatha to feel like she was being ignored, either, when the issue was far from personal as far as it came to her. So Pomni forced herself to straighten her posture and turn back toward the doll, trying—and failing—to scrounge up a smile that she hoped would dissuade from too much worried questioning.
"Were you going to your room already?" Ragatha asked, tilting her head curiously to the side.
Pomni nodded wordlessly, wishing fervently this would get Ragatha off her back. She even feigned a yawn, stifling it with her hand—at least she could do that, even though she couldn't force herself to talk.
"Ah, right, it was a pretty intense adventure today…and, well, that was a pretty nasty tumble you took, too." Ragatha indicated toward Pomni's ankle, which she purposely kept as much of her weight off of as possible. "I understand if you just want to lay down and get some rest. Don't you want some help getting to your room, though? It doesn't look very easy or comfortable walking like that…"
Pomni shrugged weakly, then shook her head. It wasn't that bad of a sprain…well, her ankle definitely hurt, but she'd suffered worse injuries while exploring abandoned buildings before, she could handle this. And she knew it would probably heal by morning anyway, since Caine usually reset their codes every night to iron out any bugs and glitches. At any rate, she didn't really want an escort to her room, not when her grasp on her own sanity felt so slippery and all she craved was solitude.
"Are you sure?" Ragatha asked, and this time she couldn't fully conceal the edge of worry that strained her voice. "It's an awfully long walk to make on your own when you're down to only one good foot."
A stab of irritation flared in Pomni's chest at the question, followed by an instant wave of guilt. Ragatha was only asking because she cared, and it wasn't like she was even coddling Pomni right now, not when Pomni was so visibly unwell and giving the doll every reason to be worried about her. It wasn't her fault that every single one of Pomni's nerves were so frayed and fragile at the moment that they were all about to collectively snap, that she felt seconds away from unraveling and needed some privacy to do so. It would help if Pomni could at least verbally communicate this to Ragatha and assuage some of her concerns, but try as she did, she still could not physically force the words out, which only frustrated her further and heightened her desperation to be alone. All she could do right now was nod again.
Ragatha hedged, rubbing her arm in what Pomni recognized as a self-soothing gesture, one she was intimately familiar with herself. The doll's brow knit together pensively as she regarded Pomni closely, and the jester's spine stiffened.
"Pomni…is something wrong?" she asked, her voice soft but now unmistakably anxious. "I know today was a lot, but you really don't seem like yourself at all right now…and I don't want to push you to talk or anything if you don't feel up to it, but I just wanted to remind you that I'm here for you if you do need someone to turn to. So…are you really okay?"
Guilt twinged in Pomni's heart, tying her stomach into a knot. It pained her deeply to cause her friend any grief, but what else could she do at the moment when she was too mentally fatigued to even speak? She knew she would owe Ragatha an apology and an explanation once she was feeling more stable again, but right then, the best she could do was offer a feeble smile and nod her head once more, hoping Ragatha could tell it was nothing at all personal.
"Oh…okay." Ragatha's shoulders dropped as she exhaled slowly, sounding a little disappointed, but she quickly tried to hide it with a smile that only tightened the knot in Pomni's stomach further. "Well…you know where to find me if you need anything, any time you need. I'll let you go now so you can get some rest. Just, ah…take it easy and feel better soon, okay?"
Pomni just gave one last nod and held up a shaky thumbs-up in response, then watched as Ragatha hesitantly turned and walked over to the couches where Gangle and Zooble were already sitting with their sketchpads, casting one quick glance back at the jester before ultimately leaving her be. Pomni swept her gaze briefly across the area, noting that the two remaining members of the circus were absent. She figured Kinger must've already retreated to his pillow fort, and as for Jax…well, who knew anymore? He'd become so distant lately, a certain hollowness in his eyes even as he cracked sarcastic quips and generally aggravated everyone seemingly for his own amusement, when he bothered to stick around with them at least. Pomni wondered about him now, how he was doing and if they were still even friends after the disastrous ending to the guns adventure…but she couldn't bring herself to worry as much as she probably should have right then. She could check on Jax later, when she felt well enough to be able to help him better…as much as he would let her, at least.
Finally, Pomni turned around again and began limping toward her room, her uneven steps slow and awkward. It didn't take long for her to regret rejecting the offer of help, as the trek proved far more arduous than expected with only one good foot to work with. Dragging herself up the massive staircase took forever, tightly gripping the railing for the whole trip and wincing to herself every time she accidentally lowered her injured foot to the ground. It may not have been the worst injury she'd ever endured, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt, and she was realizing she might have slightly underestimated the severity of her sprain.
Not the first time she'd made a stupid mistake, though.
By the time Pomni reached the top of the stairs, she was thoroughly worn out, trembling, and her ankle was killing her. To walk the rest of the way down the hall to her own room seemed an impossible challenge, even as she braced herself with one hand pressed against the wall. She blinked hard, tears rapidly accumulating in her eyes and clinging to her lashes before she could even process that she was well on her way to a full-on breakdown. She almost caved and sank to the floor right in the middle of the hallway, just below the point of caring anymore if anyone stumbled upon her in the middle of her tear-filled episode, when she suddenly caught sight of a door right in front of her that had been left slightly ajar by whoever had last exited it. She sniffled and blinked again, swiping a hand across her bleary eyes as she looked at the picture gracing the front of the door.
Kinger.
Kinger, who never seemed to be in his own room as much as his pillow fort, and whose room would certainly provide the dark and silent solace Pomni so desperately sought.
Pomni hesitated for a fraction of a second. After all, this was still Kinger's room, whether he used it much or not. In this world, where just about everything personal had been stripped away from them, it had become more important than ever to treasure any precious pockets of privacy and seclusion they had like it could be ripped away from them at any second too. Their bedrooms were sacred places in this right, with most people only entering the room of another with express permission (minus Jax and his arsenal of keys, breaking into any room he pleased to leave a little "surprise" that usually scuttled around or bit in some unsuspecting resident's room, not that he'd been doing much of that lately). Pomni in particular savored her personal space, and ordinarily wouldn't dream of invading someone else's without asking. But…she needed a minute, just a minute, and as long as she left everything as she'd found it she doubted Kinger would ever find out.
She gingerly pushed open the door, peering around as she staggered inside. She hadn't known what to expect of Kinger's room, but wasn't surprised to find out it showcased a certain regal design. Heavy red velvet curtains draped down from the ceiling, not unlike the ones that decorated her own room, with a gold-accented throne on one side of the room and a desk as well as a huge canopy bed resplendent with pillows on the other. In striking contrast to the overall royal theme were the cases of live bugs lining the shelves, mostly butterflies and beetles from what she could identify at a cursory glance with the lights off. She wondered how many of them were from Kinger's own collection and how many might have been his wife's, remembering that she was the one who had even gotten him to like bugs in the first place. She wondered if Queenie's room looked the same…her heart clenched, realizing she'd never get to meet this woman who had been Kinger's whole world before she'd been taken from him.
Pomni kept the lights off as she nudged the door closed behind her, all but the smallest crack that left a thin ribbon of light pouring in and splashing across the plush red carpet. She didn't search around for anything more comfortable, she just lowered herself onto a velvet cushion that had already been arranged on the floor, gritting her teeth as pain rippled through her ankle at the movement. For a minute, she just sat there, feeling too much and yet nothing at all at the same time, overwhelmed to the point of numbness and feeling like she was hovering outside of her own body somehow. And then, with a jerky hitch of her shoulders and a choked breath that snagged on a lump in her throat, she buried her face in her hands and let the tears flow.
She hated this. She hated this. She hated having a brain that felt like it had been wired wrong, so prone to overstimulation that was only exacerbated by the obnoxiously bright and sickeningly colorful world she was now forced to call her home. She hated that one stressful day could be enough to render her nonverbal, making it impossible to convey to anyone who cared what was wrong and what she needed. And she hated, more than anything, that there wasn't anything she could even do about it at this point. Not for the first time did she wish she could just be…normal, that she hadn't been born with these mental issues that had been dismissed so many times by people in her life who should have been there to help her, issues that had nearly driven her to the edge of something drastic before someone had finally believed her.
It wasn't fair. She thought she'd been getting better, bit by bit, back in her old life. Nothing would ever cure her anxiety or make her brain behave exactly the way she wished it would, but at least she'd been trying to regain some control of her own mind and had been making progress she had been proud of in turning her life around at last. But now, she felt like she was right back at square one, and this time she lacked any of the resources that had kept her on track before. She was simply stuck with it, a restless mind that never ceased, trapped in a vibrantly-colored cage like a helpless bird whose wings had been clipped.
It all felt like a joke. A sick, twisted, cruel joke. She supposed it was fitting that this new life would impose the role of jester upon her, serving to remind her that she'd always be nothing more than a punchline in this world. Maybe she always had been, when she thought about it.
She didn't know how long she stayed there, her chest heaving with gut-wrenching sobs that kept catching in her throat and nearly suffocating her, bawling until her eyes ached and her whole body hurt and all she could produce were gasping little whimpers that sounded pathetic to her own ears. Even then, she remained slumped on the floor far longer than she should have, sniffling tiredly and mopping her eyes with her already tear-sodden gloves, a searing headache pounding in her skull that now rivaled the nagging pain pulsing through her ankle. She should leave, go to her own room and just crawl into bed, now that she was feeling…not better, but rid of a little of the emotional weight that had bore down on her all day. But she didn't. It was like she couldn't, she physically could not will herself to get back on her feet and walk out.
Suddenly, she heard the door creak open, the hinges squeaking loudly, jolting her sharply out of her thoughts.
"…Hello…?"
A quiet voice, Kinger's voice, echoed through the room and made a cold sweat break out across Pomni's clammy skin.
Even so, she still couldn't move.
She could only sit there rigidly, completely immobilized by sudden dread and guilt, as Kinger slipped into the room, his crooked gaze immediately landing on her,
"…Oh! Pomni? What are you doing here?" he asked, sounding more curious than angry that she'd been caught where she obviously shouldn't be. He was clearly lucid at the moment, shrouded in the darkness of his own room. His inquisitive tone remained remarkably gentle and unfazed as he went on, "Were you looking for me? I'm sorry if I kept you waiting, I'm hardly ever in my own room these days except to check on the bugs, so please pardon the dust…"
Pomni swallowed thickly, leftover tears still clogging her throat, the words sticking there and leaving her unable to explain herself.
Only then did Kinger notice her tear-streaked face, the miserable expression that must have been etched across her porcelain-white features and reflected in her red-rimmed eyes, and his own expression quickly morphed into concern.
"Oh, my…are you alright?" he asked, and the hushed, soothing timbre of his familiar voice nearly brought Pomni to tears again.
Wordlessly, Pomni shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself.
"Would you…like to talk about it?" Kinger offered, tilting his head slightly as he watched her, likely waiting for some kind of affirmative reaction that she couldn't succinctly provide right then.
Pomni only hugged herself tighter, scrunching her shoulders up, and gave a barely perceptible shake of her head.
"Ah, I see…" Kinger murmured, then paused thoughtfully, before venturing to ask, "Is it that you don't want to, or that you…can't?"
Pomni widened her eyes at him questioningly, wondering how he'd been able to suss that out.
Kinger seemed to understand the look she gave him, and explained, "We used to have another member of the circus, some time before you showed up, who would have the same thing happen to them. They'd become overstimulated and go nonverbal sometimes, at least that's the term they used when they told me about it. My mind isn't what it used to be, but I can still recognize those signs. Is that what's happening with you?"
Pomni's shoulders dropped, relief flooding through her at being understood, at being seen. She nodded slowly, grateful for Kinger's remarkable perceptiveness when his wits were about him.
Kinger nodded back, giving a soft chuckle. "Funny, how often it happens that someone who needs help will often find me in the dark…maybe it's just a coincidence, but I like to think a little good luck is involved. You're welcome to stay here as long as you need, if you don't want to go back to your own room. And…this is just an offer, but one thing that always seemed to help the old circus member I was telling you about to calm down was having someone sit with them and occupy their mind with something else, something simple to distract them and that they didn't have to respond to until they could talk again. Would you like me to keep you company that way, too?"
Pomni thought for a few seconds, tugging absently at the cuff of her glove. Not even half an hour ago, the thought of another person's presence had been nearly unbearable. She considered everyone in the circus to be a pretty good friend at this point (even the ones who tried to refute that fact when backed into a corner, namely a certain purple rabbit)…but that didn't mean she didn't need a break from everyone now and then, the same way she would sometimes isolate herself in her old life to decompress and mentally sort herself out. But as desperate as she'd been to be alone earlier, now that she'd cried it out and drained herself of both energy and emotion, she realized she didn't really want to be by herself now. She didn't seem to mind at all if it was Kinger's gentle, almost parental presence accompanying her.
She nodded again, sniffling softly. A part of her felt embarrassed, almost childish, worrying that she was coming across as too vulnerable and needy when she would so often strive to be independent and took pride in her own self-sufficiency. But right now, she was too worn out to care, and knew that Kinger wouldn't view her that way anyway.
"Then I'll stay right here for you. Now, how about we do something to get you a little more comfortable?" Kinger tapped his chin thoughtfully, his gaze shifting across the room. "And I think I may know just the thing, something that always helps me on my worst days. Let's see if it can't give you a little comfort, too."
Pomni had a hunch she knew what he was thinking, and her suspicion was confirmed as she watched him shuffle across the room and gather an armful of pillows from his bed. He set to work, quickly but methodically assembling a pillow fort with the practiced ease of someone who had done it countless times before. The end result was much smaller than his usual fort, just the right size to accommodate a tiny jester, stocked with plenty of plush pillows and a thick quilt.
"…And there you have it." Kinger gestured grandly, his eyes scrunched in what Pomni recognized as a smile. "It may not be five-star luxury, but hopefully it'll suffice. Go ahead, if you'd like."
Pomni smiled gratefully at Kinger, hoping it would convey the full depth of her appreciation, before crawling into her personal pillow fort, careful not to jostle her aching ankle too much. She got herself comfortably settled, a weary sigh escaping her as she nestled against the cozy pillows and dragged the quilt closer to her. She spread it across her lap, pausing in awestruck admiration as her fingers trailed across the stunning embroidery that depicted a scene of Kinger chasing a butterfly with a net in the center, bordered with intricately detailed butterflies and wildflowers.
"Ragatha made that for me, a long time ago," Kinger told her, a tender fondness slipping into his voice as the darkness brought forth the memory. "She did pretty good capturing my likeness, huh? I'll never quite understand how anyone can create such incredible portraits with thread like one might do with paint, but she's always had a knack for it. She must've listened to me prattle on for hours about these little guys to remember my favorites! I'm just glad I can still remember the day she gave it to me."
Pomni traced a fingertip along the delicate wings of one of the butterflies, noticing that each one was in fact a different species of the bug, and smiled to herself. This must have taken forever for Ragatha to make, a testament to her big heart and her immense gratitude toward Kinger for everything he'd done for her during those first lonely years in the circus. A pang of guilt twisted Pomni's heart again, remembering her short last encounter with the doll, and she resolved to make it right the next time she spoke to her. For now, she wrapped the quilt snugly around herself, relishing its warmth and subtle weight.
Kinger scooted a little closer, pointing at a blue butterfly winging along the edge of the quilt. "I believe this one is a Menelaus blue morpho, or Morpho menelaus. They're quite beautiful, most often found in South and Central America. Of course, the pattern is a little vague, so it could also be a Periander metalmark, also known as Rhetus periander." He paused then, chuckling quietly as he shook his head to himself. "Ah, sorry. You probably don't want to hear a lot of bug rambling right now."
But Pomni quickly shook her head, not quite ready for him to stop. She tapped her fingertip against a striking orange-and-black butterfly along the edge of the blanket, looking imploringly up at Kinger.
"…Oh! You…you want me to keep telling you about them?" Kinger asked, sounding surprised but delighted by the request.
Pomni nodded, hunkering down deeper into the cozy quilt.
"Well, in that case…" Kinger cleared his throat, seemingly settling in for the long haul. "That little fellow is an eastern tiger swallowtail. See that distinct striped pattern? They're considered quite a common butterfly, in fact they're one of the most recognized in the States, but that doesn't make it any less special when you spot one in the wild." He pointed to another blue butterfly on the quilt, his eyes brightening as he went on, "And this here, it's a Palos Verdes blue, one of the world's rarest butterflies. You can only find them in a specific spot in California. I've never seen one in person before, but I would've loved to. I wonder if they've gone extinct since I…well, let's not think about that right now. Oh, and this red-and-black little guy is a Red Admiral, isn't it stunning? They can be symbolic of transition, of resilience, of hope…heh, kind of reminds me of a few very important people to me."
Pomni cracked a smile, small but genuine. There was no doubting that the first person on Kinger's mind was his wife…and, based on the warmth that flickered in his eyes when he met her gaze, she thought she might know who one of those other people might be, too.
Pomni lost track of how long they sat there, her listening intently as Kinger described his favorite bugs, going so far as to retrieve an encyclopedia of insects to show her ones not featured on the quilt. It was remarkable, that she'd been able to relax enough to forget about her terrible day, her sobbing breakdown, her sore ankle…well, maybe not forget, but distance herself enough from the misery of the day where she actually felt a little better. And maybe it was silly to confess this at her age, but right then she felt warm and safe in a way she hadn't since she was a child, on one of those rare nights when her dad would patiently read her bedtime story after bedtime story until she finally drifted off. It dawned on her that Kinger might be the closest she would ever get to having any sort of father figure again…but if that was the case, she thought she was lucky, because she didn't think she could hand-pick a better stand-in dad than him.
Eventually Pomni felt her eyelids grow heavier, her head bobbing forward slightly as she started nodding off. She was so exhausted after such a long and mentally taxing day that she knew she couldn't fight off sleep much longer, even though she wanted to keep listening to Kinger. But the soft, soothing cadence of his voice proved to be the comforting lullaby she'd so sorely needed tonight, and she could no longer ignore its gentle rhythm beckoning her into slumber.
Before she could succumb fully to the promising abyss of sleep, she finally found enough strength to say two simple words, her voice weak and scratchy but sincere nonetheless.
"Thank you…"
Thank you, for being here for me, for taking care of me, for telling me all about something you love and taking me out of my own spiraling thoughts for even a little while.
Thank you…for everything.
She didn't hear if he said anything back as she at last slipped into a peaceful slumber, but she hoped he knew she meant it, with her whole heart.