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[Gracia's gone.
Elicia didn't expect such an impossible idea again, not after having to experience it a first time when she herself had first arrived without her mother. Despite the news and the tears that followed, she still went to school. Be brave, be strong; mama never cried in front of people. So she won't either. She sits through her classes, blank-faced, attentive. Papa must be hurting really bad right now, too, just like mama did when he left.
So she has to be tough, like him.
School is out, and she sits quietly where she always does for her father, near the doors. Expressionless. She goes through her bag, taking out her journal and tucking it behind backpack, taking her fairytale book, tucking it behind her journal, searching, searching—and at last pulls out her sketchpad to draw while she waits; she really doesn't feel the urge to right now, but she's not sure what else to do. She flips open the front, and sees a picture of all three of them.
...all three.
Elicia hugs the sketchbook close to her, crushing her bag and everything in it. The journal slips down at her side, recording the almost-silence; little, quiet sobs shake the backpack, muffled in it. The blank look twists into a pained one, downcast into her drawing.]
...W-where did you go...? You were here, mama... Papa and I want you to come back...!!
Please come back...
Elicia didn't expect such an impossible idea again, not after having to experience it a first time when she herself had first arrived without her mother. Despite the news and the tears that followed, she still went to school. Be brave, be strong; mama never cried in front of people. So she won't either. She sits through her classes, blank-faced, attentive. Papa must be hurting really bad right now, too, just like mama did when he left.
So she has to be tough, like him.
School is out, and she sits quietly where she always does for her father, near the doors. Expressionless. She goes through her bag, taking out her journal and tucking it behind backpack, taking her fairytale book, tucking it behind her journal, searching, searching—and at last pulls out her sketchpad to draw while she waits; she really doesn't feel the urge to right now, but she's not sure what else to do. She flips open the front, and sees a picture of all three of them.
...all three.
Elicia hugs the sketchbook close to her, crushing her bag and everything in it. The journal slips down at her side, recording the almost-silence; little, quiet sobs shake the backpack, muffled in it. The blank look twists into a pained one, downcast into her drawing.]
...W-where did you go...? You were here, mama... Papa and I want you to come back...!!
Please come back...
