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The wind was cold against her flushed cheek, warning her of the impending storms; but for now, Misako was content with just lying under the fig tree and letting the last drops of sunlight drip over her skin.
She ran her hands across the grass below her (just light enough for it to send the softest of tickles through her palm) until her fingers ran over a fallen fruit lying on the ground. She picked it up absentmindedly, fiddling the plump fruit between her fingers.
In the back of her mind she wondered if her baby would favor figs the way she did. Her husband always was- he was always delightfully enjoying, or at least it seemed, the cakes and glazes she used to make with them.
Then again, maybe he didn't care for them any more. Maybe he really never did. Misako had always believed that her husband favored her too, but she soon realized how wrong she was about that. Only now did she realized how little she had actually known about him.
The brunette brushed her free hand over her belly, conflicted with the already overwhelming motherly love for her child and burning agony of such a permanent reminder of him.
She hated thinking about Garmadon, hating thinking of what could had been if she hadn't chosen so terribly wrong, hating looking at those damn letters that she (for some reason Misako could never riddle through) had kept in her desk. Those damn letters, with their damn words, so sweet that they dripped off the pages and ran thick through her fingers like—
Misako blinked her eyes open with a gasp as she felt traces of the warm juice from the fig running across her hand. She looked and saw the thin crescents of her nails imprinted on the skin of the fruit, and the subsequent crack in the dark purple of it below.
A drop of water fell from the sky and splashed on her knuckles, swirling with the sticky red of the fig. She stared at the twisting patterns that dripped down her fingers and onto the ground below, slowly realizing that, in fact, the water was not yet escaping from an early summer storm, but from her own eyes. Her lips trembled and she squeezed them shut, trying to maintain a semblance of self-composure, to no avail. Vaguely she thought about wiping the quickly emerging tears away from her face, but decided against it.
They would blend in with the rain soon enough.