The world, for once, had grown quiet, watching with reverence the tiny being who had shaken the skies with her arrival.
Arya Adrastia Maxwell did not have peace in the first hour of her life.
She tried, really, with the most valiant of efforts, to explain how serious the situation was. But every time she raised her tiny fists or furrowed her chubby brows, her mother-glowing with warmth and maternal wonder- swooped in for another cuddle. And another. And another.
"Mother! Again?" Arya's small voice protested, her cheeks squished against Rose's.
She'd wriggled and escaped, only to hide behind her father's head, her little face peeking out from behind strands of his purple gold hair. The soft, impish glare in her wide silver-green eyes was helplessly adorable.
"Enough for now," she pouted seriously, her fists clenched tight. "I really have to talk to you both."
