Kafka initially braced himself for an awkward, emotionally charged encounter. He expected a confrontation, perhaps a cold silence, or a torrent of unresolved feelings now that he and his mother, Vanitas, were finally face-to-face without the veil of deception or life-threatening circumstances.
Yet, as he watched her, a strange amusement bubbled within him.
When he tilted his head to look at her, she'd subtly shift her gaze away. He tried again, tilting his head the other way, and her eyes would once more flick to avoid his.
It was an oddly endearing dance, this powerful being, the Eternal Sovereign of Life and Death, now seemingly flustered and avoiding eye contact like a shy child.
The fear that had gripped him just moments ago, the apprehension of confronting this omnipotent figure, had completely dissolved, replaced by a sense of gentle bewilderment.
It was as if he was the intimidating one, and she was the one trying to disappear.
