(no subject)

[jack_inthegreen]

Jack sits in one of the chairs by the fireplace, singing to his daughter in a language long gone. The words would seem familiar, though: all lullabies, are their core, are about the same thing.

Love you, precious child. Love you.

Comments

[jack_inthegreen]

Jack smiles proudly. "It's not a talent everyone is born with. I'm not going to claim it's my influence--but it probably is."

[iamnotstorm.livejournal.com]

She laughed softly again, "Well I won't tell anyone." She said with a wink.

[jack_inthegreen]

"Ah, I don't mind people knowing. It's not that I hide what I am."