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In the middle of the night, two Halovian children were sheltered within an elaborate bedroom that kept them away from the bristling storm that raged outside.
“Sister, why do you seem as if you're about to weep?” Sunday asked, his thin little brows furrowed as his face scrunched up out of concern, noting her distressed expression.
At his question, Robin tentatively glanced up at the window before instantly looking away, as if merely staring at the dastardly sight outside would encourage the storm to sweep both her and the rest of everything she ever loved away within its treacherous grasp.
“The thunder... I wish storms were only during the daytime.”
Sunday's lips fell into a small frown over the tension in his sister's voice, and he took it upon himself to ease her burdens, as he figured all good older brothers ought to do. With haste, he turned away from her trembling form and dug into his wooden crate of stuffed animals in search of one part of his solution.
As his hands grasped upon soft, dark pink fur, he struggled to pull it upright with his small hands until it sprang up from the pile of cuddly companions, all due to his persistent prodding. Satisfied, he carried it snuggly in his arms before setting it down next to Robin.
“Mr. Bun-Bun?” she inquired with a curious tilt of her head, glancing over the familiar toy.
Sunday smiled at her sudden change of tone, nodding his head.
“Mm-hm! He used to help me fall asleep whenever I used to feel scared, but now you need him far more than I do.”
Before Robin could ever dare to protest, insisting that he kept her, the Halovian boy suddenly huddled her closer, proceeding to place Mr. Bun-Bun in her lap.
As the girl felt feathers brush against her form, she let out a small giggle, realizing that he was trying to swaddle her with his wings and cage her in the warmth of his embrace, much akin to how their mother had done for them long ago.
It wasn't an entirely successful effort, as his plumage could barely curl around her sides, but the purity of his intentions was clear.
Once Robin finally settled into the safety of Sunday's presence, the boy turned his head around and pointed up at the window.
“Now, sister, do you see anything?”
Robin was hesitant to dare look up, still ever so worried that her fears would come to pass if she did, but she trusted her brother, didn't she? She strongly believed he would never do anything to ever hurt nor slight her, and so she obliged.
She proceeded to panic when she couldn't recognize anything of note.
“Huh? No, why?”
“That's because the stars are currently hiding, shrouded away by the clouds until the storm passes.”
Her panic soon fizzled out as quickly as it had arrived.
“Hehe, really?”
“Yes, really! At least, that's what the Dreammaster told me... he told me it was the clouds’ duty to keep the stars untouched from the treachery of the dangerous storms nearby.”
Robin hummed at his words, contemplating them far more than she thought she would.
“Huh. Well... don't the clouds ever get lonely? Who gets to protect them?”
“He, uhm... didn't tell me that part yet.”
Robin frowned at his admission.
“Oh.”
“But see? As long as you're protected, you won't have a singular thing to fear,” Sunday paused before turning his head to smile at her. “...and because we're under the Dreammaster’s protection, we don't need to fear the dark, right?”
“R-Right!”
Robin, still as shaken up as she was by the crashes of nearby lightning from moments prior, wasn't as keenly assured of Sunday's statement as he himself was, but she would trust him.
As the two children continued to watch the rain fall outside the sizable window, the sight of a beautiful bird, steadily hanging onto to a thick tree branch as it tried to outmatch the mighty thunder with its meek chirping, had captured their attention.
“Is that another Charmony Dove?” Robin asked in awe.
Sunday peered closer towards the window to get a better look, before slinking back to where he was, shaking his head. “No, I... I think that's a nightingale. Mother's favorite.”
The mention of their mother brought a frown to Robin's lips, and her eyes fell away from the window and onto the ground.
“Brother...”
Sunday resigned himself from window-watching to look back over at her, puzzled. “What is it?”
“Do you think we'll... always be together?” Robin murmured her question, as if she were afraid of even asking it at all.
“I hope so.”
“Good, I... I don't want to lose you too.”
“Neither do I.”
As he noted the way her eyelids grew heavy, Sunday shifted Robin to rest more comfortably against his shoulder, and he began to hum a soft, pleasant melody. It had sounded so beautiful, yet oddly bittersweet, though Robin could hardly grasp why.
And as it calmed her nerves and soothed her senses, it was through the blissful lullaby that she was finally lulled into pleasant slumber, as it silently, without her knowledge, stirred the seeds her mother had planted long ago with her own gentle hands.
⭑*•̩̩͙⊱•••••••✩•••••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑
Perhaps it was no surprise at all, then, that out of those seeds that were thus heavily nurtured by her brother's tender care, Robin's love for music had blossomed, changing her from a demure young girl into a galaxy-renowned pop superstar.
But as of late, much to her own bewilderment, Robin has caught herself on more than one occasion humming the lullaby from her childhood whenever she remained idle for too long.
There had been attempts to adjust it over time, simply from her trying to attach lyrics to the tune, though without fail, any such words proceeded to be subsequently scrutinized, modified, discarded, reworded, and refastened, until she ultimately gave up, never being able to perfect the libretto enough to appease her satisfaction, much less enough to honor the sentimental melody.
‘Perhaps this is what Brother always felt whenever he tried to adhere to his stretch of perfectionism...’ she thought, and she soon regretted thinking the words the very moment she winced.
Anything relating to or regarding her brother was now a painfully bittersweet thing to remind herself of, much less dwell upon in thought, and it only encouraged her memory to reprise the events of their fall from not so long ago.
Robin tried to force herself to forget the bitter pang, tried to desperately drown it out with what had soothed her all those many years ago, but no matter which way she hummed it, it still filled her heart with a burst of fondness before painfully, gruesomely, shredding it apart by its delicate seams.
The suffocating weight of her sorrow, as heavy as it already was, somehow felt more burdensome upon her shoulders whenever she remembered she may never hear the melody in a pitch that wasn't her own ever again.
As her eyes trailed over to a nearby table, it was then that she finally picked up the plume that one of the nurses at the hospital had given to her—she really didn't wish to ask how they had came into possession of it, she was just thankful to have yet another thing to remind her of him, as nearly detrimental to her emotions as it seemed to end up being.
It was in the quiet moments like these that, with a heavy heart, Robin had delicately thumbed over the soft feather that had fallen out of her brother's well-trimmed plumage.
It was in the quiet moments like these that, with trembling fingers, she now grasped onto one of the very plumes that used to shield her from whatever had troubled her as a child.
It was in the quiet moments like these that, with glistening eyes, she wished he was still there by her side.
She supposed it could've all led up to a far worse conclusion; that their shared descent could've ended in tragedy—and she was ever so grateful that he survived—but what true peace of mind was such knowledge, when she wasn't sure if there would come a time where she could ever see her kin again?
But maybe, if she convinced herself hard enough to come to peace with it, then being led to believe by instinct alone that somewhere out there, in one of the many dreamscapes within Penacony, or somewhere within the abundance of planets that occupied the cosmos, had held her strong, stubborn, and very much alive brother would be enough.
It had to be enough.
And as she looked up, she hoped that maybe, somewhere out there, he, too, was currently glancing up at the same starry sky as she was, just like they once did when they were but small children.
A wistful smile crept upon her lips upon hearing the nearby chirping of a nightingale, and, try as she might to withhold the tears that threatened to fall, not even she, with as trained to be as perfectly poised as she was, could prevent the crack in her tremoring voice as she clutched the feather close to her chest.
“Brother... wherever you may be, I hope you find peace.”