[i][/i][hr][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/cQ1NPja.png[/img][img]https://i.imgur.com/jttTmEk.png[/img]
[sup][sup]And [color=6D4833]Latoya[/color][/sup][/sup][/center][right][b][code]Spanksgiving.[/code][/b][/right][right][b]Interactions: Paloma ([@Atrophy]))[/b][/right][hr][hr][quote=Paloma][color=springgreen]“Destiny, where are your [i][b]parents?[/b][/i]”[/color][/quote]

Destiny went still the moment Paloma said parents.

Not a flinch. Not a blink.

Just. Still.

It wasn’t even a choice. The word hit like a hammer tapping a bruise she’d spent months pretending didn’t exist, and the memory surged up before she could shove it back down.

The whistle first. That thin, cutting sound she didn’t understand until it was too late.

Then the crack. Loud enough to vibrate inside her ribs.

Her mother’s body folding-

The dark bloom spreading across her shirt-

The portal shrinking-

Her own voice screaming-

Her hand reaching-

Her mother’s slipping away-

The flash was over in less than a second.

But Destiny’s breath was gone. Her stomach dropped. Her fingers curled into her palms as if she could anchor herself to this moment and not that one.

She didn’t let it show on her face.

[i]She never let it show on her face.[/i]

But her telepathy misfired-just a flicker-her shield slipping for half a heartbeat. Vin would feel it the most: a sharp spike of grief, brief and blinding as a camera flash, before Destiny slammed it shut again. She swallowed hard, eyes narrowing-not at Paloma, but at the world for daring to touch that wound.

And that was the crack the Mother Will slid through.

Not appearing and not arriving, just coalescing in the space created by Destiny’s pain. Reflexive. Automatic. A parasite smelling blood. Her voice brushed the back of Destiny’s mind like cold fingers:

“... She knows. More than she says.”

No reaction.

Because Destiny was used to the weight of Mother Will at her shoulder, like a shadow she couldn’t shed.

“She prods at you,” the Mother Will whispered, voice dipped in amusement. “She tastes your trauma. She [i]wants[/i] you rattled.”

Destiny’s jaw tightened, the only betrayal she allowed.

Mother Will leaned in—never seen, never touching, but somehow too close.

“She isn’t even[i] subtle,[/i]” she murmured. “She wants you to be aware that you are prey. She wants you to feel her circling.”

A soft laugh, low and delighted.

“Before she goes in for the kill.”

Destiny had been silent for too long now. Staring and breathing steady and trying to keep her pulse from climbing.

And in that quiet, something moved on the table.

A fork.

It scraped once against the wood, then lifted—smooth, weightless—drawn by Destiny’s telekinesis.

But Destiny wasn’t controlling it.

Not really.

Her magic had always been easiest for Mother Will to hijack in moments like this—when Destiny’s shields were cracked, when the old hurt was bleeding through.

The fork floated neatly into Destiny’s hand.

To the Blind observing, it would look like Destiny simply reached for it.

To Destiny, she could feel Mother Will guiding the motion and using her hands and her power.

A suggestion disguised as instinct.

“... [i][b]Kill her,[/b][/i]” The Mother Will whispered.

Almost gentle.

Almost motherly.

She didn't even notice the new party approaching. She was on a one-track mind, eyes fixed on Paloma like she was the only person left in the room. Every sound dulled. Every face blurred. Only the target stayed sharp. Mother Will’s whisper coiling through her skull, drowning out everything that wasn’t Paloma-

[color=6D4833]”... Hey, I was hoping to run into you,”[/color]. Breaking her out of her reverie was a hand touching her other shoulder. She recognized the voice. She didn't even have to look up to see who it was.

[i]Latoya.[/i]

Despite that, she looked up and saw that smile on her face. One hand was on Destiny's shoulder, the other one was on a plate of food. The woman looked around, [color=6D4833]”I see you're making friends! But, what are you doing with that fork and no food?!”[/color] She laughed, before looking up.

[color=6D4833]”I'm Latoya, this lil' girl is my f[i]riend,[/i]”[/color]

Destiny froze.

Not the way she had with Paloma’s question—quiet and internal.

This was a jolt, like someone had reached into the machinery of her brain and yanked a wire loose.

Latoya’s voice cut straight through Mother Will’s whisper, slicing the kill-command clean in half. The fork twitched in Destiny’s grip. Her pupils snapped toward the woman with something too sharp, too alert, too caught.

Powerlessness.

The feeling she’d been running from since last night slammed into her chest like a breaking wave.

She tried to pull back—mentally, emotionally, physically—but Latoya’s hand on her shoulder burned like contact with a spotlight. Too warm. Too close. Too kind.

She didn’t understand kindness without motive.

Not from anyone. Her voice, when it finally found its way out, came out brittle and small—more a crack than a sound.

[color=757566]“I... dropped it.”[/color]

She hadn’t. But it was the first excuse her scrambled brain could grab.

Destiny’s throat worked once, twice, like she was trying to swallow a stone. Her gaze jittered, Paloma, Vin, Latoya, the fork in her hand, too many inputs, too many eyes, too many hands on her shoulders, both real and imagined. Her breathing hitched. Not enough to look scared.

Just enough to betray that she was calculating escape routes.

Mother Will’s presence pressed against the inside of her skull, displeased, but even she had gone quiet—watching Destiny come apart at the seams. Destiny flinched at her own voice when it came out, thin and strained:

[color=757566]“Why are you all... being [i]soooo[/i] nice to me?”[/color]

Not accusatory.

Not grateful.

[b]Lost. Confused.[i] Cornered.[/i][/b]

Like she genuinely didn’t understand the rules of whatever game she’d just walked into.

[color=757566]“...[i] People don’t just... [b]do that[/b]...[/i]"[/color]

A truth she said like an apology. Or a warning.