Vanitas sighed. Her body, once stiff with fear and shame, felt like it was melting into Kafka's embrace. Her arms tightened around him unconsciously as her face pressed against his chest, listening to that same heartbeat she had once sent a nun to share with him.
It was strong...steady...just like him.
She felt safe.
And it startled her.
Because she—Vanitas, the the Queen of the World, the being above all, the one feared by Gods and Kings alike, had never needed to feel safe.
Nothing could threaten her. Nothing could harm her. And yet...right now, curled up in her son's arms, with his warmth around her and his promise echoing in her ears...she felt it.
Safe.
Truly, deeply safe.
And loved.
"I…" She whispered softly, her voice barely audible. "I feel so lucky...to have a son like you."
She slowly looked up at him, her lips trembling into a fragile smile.
