• Dominic felt it, the choking tightness of anxiety unfurling and suffocating within his chest. His mind had been steeped in the harsh words of his mother’s protector, a reality he wished he couldn’t even consider to be truth. Was his father truly so terrible? Yes, he knew full well what the man was. After all, Dominic was half of that, a dhampir child of a being whose lifetime had witness the passing of ages long since past into obscurity. Dominic himself was a little over a thousand years old. He'd had time to know his father, time more than anyone, he'd assumed- and yet Star’s tirade had stirred something within him: doubt. Doubt that he truly knew who his own father. Doubt that drove him mad.

    “Hey, kid. What are you doing here?” Dom jumped at the familiar, gruff sound of his father’s voice. Zidane was a staggeringly tall and naturally intimidating man with eyes that burned like livid garnet flames. Dark hair spilled over one side of his face and hid the ancient scar that marred his cheek. They could have been the same age, could have been brothers, not father and son. Dominic shrugged, shadowing his eyes with a fringe of dyed blond hair. He heard Zidane sigh and join him up in one of the many wizened evergreens standing over his father’s home, great sentinels of the forest.

    “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?” Dominic shrugged again.

    “Tell me.” Zidane nudged his son’s shoulder and Dominic took a deep breath.

    Was it this sudden fear of his own father that rendered him tongue-tied? He couldn’t even look him in the eye. Maybe it was a promise to Star, the assassin who made him vow not to speak of her for fear of violent retribution. He knew he had to be careful with his words or Zidane would realise what had transpired. Despite the risk, he needed to know. Dominic needed to understand his father.

    “...Dad...” Dominic’s voice was nearly a whisper. He pointed to the garnet bracelet kept perfect from ages of near obsessive care residing on his father's right wrist.

    “...Did mom...” He watched a flash of volatile emotion threaten the break through and conquer Zidane’s strong visage

    “...Did mom give you that?” Dominic inquired. Zidane’s intense gaze averted. He said nothing but Dominic needed answers.

    “And...What about blues dancing and...Beauty and the Beast, dad? What does that mean?”

    Zidane began to shudder, stark white hands balled into tight fists. He wasn’t saying anything. It was as if he’d been rendered mute entirely. Dominic’s brow furrowed, his fear ebbing away.

    “..Dad?” He leaned closer to his father and found something he’d never seen before. He couldn’t fathom even he had just done. All it had taken was the mention of something that seemed utterly mundane to bring a man so stoic and staunchly unemotional to outwardly feel. The sight disturbed Dominic deeply. The boy needed no verbal response. He regretted saying anything at all.

    Zidane was crying.