[In the midst of the chaos of this house, Delloso de la Rue holds Milo's gnarled hands in their paws and digs deep within themself to find the fae magic that gave them life. For the terror that clings to every room here and death that Rue would soon encounter after, it is a quiet moment of utter calm between the two, uncharacteristically peaceful, accented only by the faint fragrance of peonies.
The name whispered only between the two of them is fae in origin, powerful on the tongue but so gently and delicately spoken, like a tree bending in a storm, sturdy on its own but knowing exactly when to yield, when strength alone will not save it. Rue's paws stay clasped around Milo's hands as that fragile heartbeat of fae magic pulses between them, and just like that, the last remaining pieces of the memory of Milo's former name slip from their shoulders like water.
They are free. Maybe not from this house and the terrors they still have yet to face, but no mortal will ever hold power over them again.]
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The name whispered only between the two of them is fae in origin, powerful on the tongue but so gently and delicately spoken, like a tree bending in a storm, sturdy on its own but knowing exactly when to yield, when strength alone will not save it. Rue's paws stay clasped around Milo's hands as that fragile heartbeat of fae magic pulses between them, and just like that, the last remaining pieces of the memory of Milo's former name slip from their shoulders like water.
They are free. Maybe not from this house and the terrors they still have yet to face, but no mortal will ever hold power over them again.]