Shit -- was she helping at all? Sindri bit back another whine, feeling like it might just be a jab to her poor sister as her panic intensified, even as Bragi laughed. It hurt, the humorless twist to the dark girls maw, the acrid laugh -- but that wasn't really Bragi, that was the panic. That was the hate that bubbled inside her, the hurt that, as Sin listened, someone had put there.

'I'm not your sister.'

Sindri blinked hard and lowered her muzzle a degree, but stood resolute.

Two things can be true, she insisted softly, You are my sister. You belong wherever you are loved, and I love you, Bragi. Papa loves you, our sisters love you, Tyr loves you.

She didn't bring up the missing brother, the one nobody else seemed to believe was alive. She also didn't recognize Tyr's other children as her own family, though the king himself had wormed his way into the evening rose's heart.
Could she seep love into Bragi's, if she saturated it into her life enough?

Everyone deserved love and light and happiness, even those cast in the dark by some unforgettable shadow.

A house, in a city, in a state, in the middle of nowhere. Sindri didn't question the strange words, strange structures jutting from the ground dancing behind her eyelids as clear as a memory. She didn't like cities, she told herself with a certainty she didn't understand but also didn't question -- they blotted out the stars with their harsh, unnatural lights, disconnected from the sky and the pantheon beyond.

Sindri frowned deeper as Bragi mentioned... dying.

That was, distinctively, not something that other gods did. It wasn't something Sindri remembered, vast as her memories seemed to be -- had Bragi been some poor mortal with a tragic life thrown in with godlings of many ages and spanning many stories? Her seclusion, her fear, seemed a little bit less out of place, Sin concluded -- watching with a spike of alarm as blood dripped from her littermates nose.

Bragi, please, take some deep breaths, she plead, leg lowering and brows pinching in concern -- should she call Cupid, Lilja? There was a spark of anger in her chest, one she bit back on and shoved deep down; it wasn't the fault of anyone she could hurl accusations at, but Nyx help the day she found out who these people were who made her sister feel this way.

We won't ask you to be anything but happy, yourself. You're safe with us. Tell me, how can I help you?