Family and Wreaths

Talking with Dove gave Valentine plenty of ideas.

Cherubmas was something she had only known of for a little under three days, yet it was all she could think of recently. She had found herself visiting the Heavenly Embassy often, flitting between Primrose and Beanny when she wasn’t below the clouds with Dove. She was sure at least Primrose must have been sick of seeing her and hearing her questions about the holiday - even if she tried to sneak them in while cleaning with him. She could almost see the twitch of annoyance in his eye when she opened her mouth; hear the incoming scolding for being so invested in such a frivolous thing rather than a more virtuous tradition. Each time she’d promise to help him with something in return - and, even though she did, truly mean it, he would usually regard her as a liar. Beanny was less irritated by the questions, more inclined to share after Valentine had her coffee in hand. She wasn’t as enthused as Dove was, either - seemingly content to just lift off the traditions with a little shrug and a glance over their shoulder at the brewing coffee.

Everything she learned about Cherubmas fascinated Valentine. It seemed so warm despite the cold season it was dedicated to, so decidedly full of cozy-comfort. It made sense, of course - from what she could garner from Dove and the other cherubuns, it sounded like it would have fit right into the image of the Heavenly Meadow Val had tried to conjure in her mind. The idea of family being so close and friends held so dear… Of course Valentine had friends here. Burrowgatory was full of people she could talk to - people she loved to be around and people she constantly made plans to be with. But as for family… That one was a foreign concept, family hardly even important in Burrowgatory. Family was a notion not many spared the time for. But it seemed important to the cherubuns. Many of the ones she’d seen had people they were close with - families they’d never see again once they left the Heavenly Meadow. Of course they had friends and the like, but did they miss the love of their families more than they liked their new friends?

Valentine had taken to distracting herself, staring at the wreath her fingers had absentmindedly weaved into existence. The leaves and branches were the deep red of a cherry pie filling, speckled with light pink flowers that were silk-soft to the touch. She ran her fingers around the structure, digits ticklish against the leaves and lingering longer on the welcoming petals. It was strange how this holiday had made her feel. The wreath felt out of place in her room, the black and hot pink modern and chic compared to something made so sentimentally. Still, she held it in her hands, lifting it over her head and adjusting it onto a prepared picture-hanger on her door. She couldn’t shake the idea that it was wrong, in some way. Missing a puzzle piece that was too big to ignore.

The thought made her go back to the idea of family again. She wondered if she could even relate any sort of family she’d ever had to what cherubuns had, but the very idea felt impossible. Val didn’t even know the people she came from in the way that her more saintly counterparts did; almost no one in Burrowgatory did. Family simply wasn’t a value here - no one sought out the people who had given them to the bunnery during breeding season, nor did they have any reason to resent them. That was the way it was here; it was a fact of life. Succubuns didn’t have a need for family - not in the way she thought cherubuns might. The closest thing they had was…

Valentine paused, her fingers steady and lingering on the wreath. A succubun’s parent meant nothing to them, nothing more than a less appealing fellow bun on the street that their hormones lead them away from. But she had a fondness for something different… Something that perhaps Primrose or a more faithful cherubun would surely turn their nose up at.

The first year of Val’s life was a foggy blur, the edges of it creased and burned and pockmarked with ash. There was a memory here and there of a warm voice or a gentle touch, though she could hardly recall a word through the fog. Still, Valentine remembered how she felt. Safe. Happy. Loved. That was what family was supposed to make you feel, according to what the saintly buns she’d questioned had said on the matter. Warm and safe as she had been in the hands of the demon who had raised her.

Struck with inspiration, Valentine dug through a chest of trinkets she kept near her jewelry box. A pendant from the Church of Sulfur and something special. It was the only thing she could remember keeping from the demon - a parting gift unique to her. She knew her other littermates must have received that same grace, but it was still a cherished trinket. It was a keychain, golden and bearing an odd shape she couldn’t mistake for an imp. She’d seen an image similar to it in a book on mythology - something dubbed a ‘zebra’. It was an odd name, though she couldn’t help but find it fitting. The pattern it was painted with was one she couldn’t seem to shake off, finding its way into everything from her room decor and clothing to the murals she painted on her horns. 

She tucked both the pendant and keychain amidst the leaves of the wreath, stepping back to admire the work. The puzzle piece fit into place perfectly, the wreath finally feeling as though it belonged. It felt… Personal. Right. This was the wreath she wanted in her room - not something she would take down on a whim after a week or so of being seen. She allowed herself to smile, stepping even further back to allow more of the room to join the background of the wreath. Yes, it fit perfectly.