Chapter 132: The Sacred Ritual
Of all the small routines that bound Eva to the world, none was more revered than the lap pillow.
It didn't matter if it was rainy days, hot days, quiet evenings. It was the first thing Eva thought of when she awoke, and the last thing she desired before closing her eyes. In those moments, the world outside ceased to exist, and there was only the soft, warm reality of Seraphina's lap.
Eva would climb into Seraphina's lap, curl herself up like a cat, and press her cheek against the soft give of Seraphina's thigh. It was always the same. The scent of lavender, faint and delicate like the air after a spring storm, would drift up from Seraphina's clothes. Eva would close her eyes, allowing the rhythm of Seraphina's breathing to settle her like a lullaby. In the quiet hum of those moments, time seemed to slow, stretching endlessly, and nothing else in the world seemed quite so important.
Sometimes, Eva napped. Her small body would fall into a peaceful doze, her breathing syncing with Seraphina's, the sound of her chest rising and falling a perfect cadence of security. Other times, she asked endless questions about the world, about people, about how to tell if someone was lying or if flowers had feelings.
"What if the roses cry?" Eva asked once, as she played with the lace of Seraphina's sleeve. "They seem so sad in the garden."
Seraphina smiled softly, a small curve of her lips that never quite reached her eyes, and stroked her fingers gently through Eva's dark curls. "I think the roses feel everything we feel. They just don't know how to show it."
"But that means they can be sad, too?"
"Maybe," Seraphina mused. "But the roses don't cry like we do. They hold it all inside and just let it bloom."
Eva frowned, as though the idea of silent suffering was something she would have to think on for a long time. "But isn't it better if you can talk about it?"
Seraphina's hand stilled for a moment. "Sometimes. But other times, silence holds more weight than words."
Eva pondered this. "Does that mean silence can be beautiful?"
Seraphina's fingers twitched a little as she continued stroking Eva's hair, her voice soft but steady, as though her words themselves were woven from some delicate fabric. "Silence can be everything. It can be heavy, or light, or full of promises that haven't been said yet."
Eva blinked up at her, confused, her head still resting on Seraphina's leg. "I don't understand. Promises that haven't been said?"
Seraphina chuckled lightly, her fingers running through Eva's hair again, as though there was no need to explain everything at once. "Some promises don't need words. Sometimes, the way we act is more than enough."
"But how will you know if I keep my promises if I don't say them out loud?"
Seraphina let out a breath, as though the question was one she had pondered herself at some point. "I'll know, Eva. I'll always know."
Eva looked up at her, her heart thudding softly in her chest. For a moment, she wasn't sure if it was the warmth of Seraphina's lap, or the way her voice felt like a gentle spell, or perhaps something more than both of those things — something deeper. But she believed Seraphina. Her certainty was a steady, unfaltering thing.
"I promise," Eva whispered, though she wasn't sure what she was promising, only that the words felt right.
And Seraphina didn't question her. Instead, she continued to hum softly, an old, familiar tune that Eva had come to recognize as Seraphina's lullaby, a song that seemed to be woven from memories neither of them could recall.
The days passed this way — sometimes drifting into the lazy warmth of summer, other times curling into the cool hush of winter. But the ritual of the lap pillow never changed. It was constant, unbroken. And within that silence, that gentle rhythm, Eva felt more at home than anywhere else. There was something undeniably sacred in those quiet moments, when no words were needed, and all that existed was the touch of Seraphina's fingers in her hair and the safety of her presence.
One evening, as the world outside turned dark and stormy, Eva climbed into Seraphina's lap, just as she always did. The wind howled outside, rattling the windows with a fury that only seemed to add to the calm within the room. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, and the smell of rain clung to the air.
"You always come to me when the storm comes," Seraphina murmured, her fingers tracing delicate patterns on Eva's arm.
Eva nodded, her eyes fluttering shut. "I don't like storms," she said softly. "But when I'm with you, I feel like I'm safe from them."
Seraphina's hand paused, her fingers hovering for a moment above Eva's skin. "You're always safe with me," she replied quietly. "Storms come and go, but we are always here."
Eva's heart fluttered, a soft thrill running through her chest. She wanted to say something — something important, something that would make this moment last forever — but the words tangled in her throat, too complicated to unravel.
"I don't think I could ever leave you," Eva said at last, her voice barely above a whisper.
Seraphina's fingers stilled, and for a brief moment, there was a heaviness in the air, a weight of unspoken things. But Seraphina simply placed a soft kiss on the top of Eva's head.
"You don't have to leave me," she said gently. "Not unless you want to. And even then, I'll be right here, waiting."
Eva let out a breath, a small, satisfied sound, and burrowed further into Seraphina's lap, feeling the soft rise and fall of her breath beneath her cheek. For a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear entirely — there was nothing but the gentle hum of Seraphina's voice, the warmth of her presence, and the soft rhythm of their shared silence.
And so they sat together, with nothing between them but the sacredness of that quiet space. No questions needed to be answered, no promises spoken aloud. They were simply together, and that was enough.
As the night wore on, Eva's eyelids grew heavier, and she began to drift into a light sleep. But before she could fully succumb to her dreams, she heard Seraphina's voice, soft and tender.
"Eva," she whispered, her fingers still tracing circles on the girl's back.
"Mm?" Eva murmured, too tired to fully lift her head.
"I'll always be here. No matter what."
Eva's heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, she wasn't sure whether it was the safety of Seraphina's words or the quiet lullaby of her voice that made her feel like she was floating.
"I know," Eva whispered back, a smile tugging at her lips even as her eyes fluttered closed. "I know."
And with that, the storm outside faded into the distance, and the only sound that remained was the peaceful, rhythmic pulse of two hearts beating as one.