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There is a time, when Bryce is young and grieving and furious, where she thinks of never Claiming anything.
She thinks of simply staying as she is, human-enough and powerless, because she has seen how her father struggled with hiding, with denying, for so many years and with so many people, and she doesn’t think she can do the same. Not when she has just watched her parents be lowered into the ground and buried.
She thinks of it. Consider it, even.
But then she thinks of the way her father’s face had lit up, that first time she asked why the stars were singing. Thinks of the first touch of moonlight against her cheek when she sat in her window late at night, soft and steady and comforting. Thinks of the weight of the shadows on her shoulders, a heavy blanket that covered her completely as she stared dully at blood soaked streets.
She thinks of all that and more, her father’s smile as he told her stories from days long past, her mother’s teasing at her husband’s delicate wings, Alfred dry sarcasm when once again faced with the glitter, and she knows that she will not be able to ignore the call of the Night when she is finally ready to lay her Claim.
She is a Fairy, after all. They can never resist that which Calls them for very long.
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I genuinely cannot remember how the hell I came up with this, but I found it in my docs folder a decided I might as well share it.