[FIC] unwrapped
Rating : PG13
Fandom : Kateikyoushi Hitman Reborn!
Characters : Fabio, Rosa and Daniela
Prompt : first Christmas without Rosa
Disclaimer : Uh... I would say Kateikyoushi Hitman Reborn! belongs to Akira Amano, but Fabio and Rosa mostly belong to Prinsessa and Daniella's mine though the inspiration is warranted. x3
Warnings : angst ahoy!
She remembers bright lights and the dazzling tinsel, the huge Christmas trees and the piles of gifts. In her memory is the merry singing of the choir and her father's more joyful laughter, the warm food, the warmer fire and her mother's warmest smile.
She likes to think about this huge chair in her father's home, so pretty and bright with the colors of gold and silver, but most of all she adores how he sat on it, vibrant like Saint Nicholas with her mother reclined on its arm.
"Daniella-ita," he would call to her, arms spread wide, and he had held her like she was the most precious thing, her brothers seated by his feet, small fists clutching the hem of their mother's gown. She would sit on his lap, a bright smile on her face, eyes alight with only the joy a child can possess.
Back then, she always cradled a gift in her hands, a gift for her parents, and always, whatever she gives them, they loved it, they adored it. It always made her heart flutter, made her feel warm and special and made her soul tingle with a tenderness only matched by the touch of her mother's fingertips on her cheek.
It would always be her father unwrapping it with an earnest face, and whatever they may receive from her on that year: be it a pendant, a drawing, a card, a letter, whatever it was she made with her dainty little hands, they would love it and her father would kiss her on her cheek, and her mother would hug her a bit tightlier.
It makes her wonder now, it makes her pause, makes her question, why this chair incites a chill up her spine. Perhaps, she thinks, that it's because it's not a chair at all, but a throne. The Vongola's Throne.
It makes her shiver, makes her recoil, when her father, her loving father sits on it now, eyes dark and staring into nothing, encumbered by a frost she cannot make her way through. She still holds a present in her hands, on this day of Christmas Eve, but even when she reaches out to him, hands it over to that strange man with her father's unsmiling face, he takes it, but does not open it.
He does not thank her as her father would have, does not kiss her as he would have, and she is led away by tall men--her father's guardians and nothing more, and she cries herself to sleep in her brother's arms who tell her, who whisper to her that she should be strong, that father is hurt, that mother is no longer here.
But she doesn't listen, and she keeps crying, remembering her father's loving hugs and her mother's warm smiles.
Every year, she keeps trying, a gift cradled preciously in her hands.
And years later, surrounded by winter and frost marred by the red of her father's blood and dirtied by the soot of flames, she finds not a single present unwrapped.
finite~
A/n: Again, hoping I didn't butcher them too much. ><;;;
Fandom : Kateikyoushi Hitman Reborn!
Characters : Fabio, Rosa and Daniela
Prompt : first Christmas without Rosa
Disclaimer : Uh... I would say Kateikyoushi Hitman Reborn! belongs to Akira Amano, but Fabio and Rosa mostly belong to Prinsessa and Daniella's mine though the inspiration is warranted. x3
Warnings : angst ahoy!
She remembers bright lights and the dazzling tinsel, the huge Christmas trees and the piles of gifts. In her memory is the merry singing of the choir and her father's more joyful laughter, the warm food, the warmer fire and her mother's warmest smile.
She likes to think about this huge chair in her father's home, so pretty and bright with the colors of gold and silver, but most of all she adores how he sat on it, vibrant like Saint Nicholas with her mother reclined on its arm.
"Daniella-ita," he would call to her, arms spread wide, and he had held her like she was the most precious thing, her brothers seated by his feet, small fists clutching the hem of their mother's gown. She would sit on his lap, a bright smile on her face, eyes alight with only the joy a child can possess.
Back then, she always cradled a gift in her hands, a gift for her parents, and always, whatever she gives them, they loved it, they adored it. It always made her heart flutter, made her feel warm and special and made her soul tingle with a tenderness only matched by the touch of her mother's fingertips on her cheek.
It would always be her father unwrapping it with an earnest face, and whatever they may receive from her on that year: be it a pendant, a drawing, a card, a letter, whatever it was she made with her dainty little hands, they would love it and her father would kiss her on her cheek, and her mother would hug her a bit tightlier.
It makes her wonder now, it makes her pause, makes her question, why this chair incites a chill up her spine. Perhaps, she thinks, that it's because it's not a chair at all, but a throne. The Vongola's Throne.
It makes her shiver, makes her recoil, when her father, her loving father sits on it now, eyes dark and staring into nothing, encumbered by a frost she cannot make her way through. She still holds a present in her hands, on this day of Christmas Eve, but even when she reaches out to him, hands it over to that strange man with her father's unsmiling face, he takes it, but does not open it.
He does not thank her as her father would have, does not kiss her as he would have, and she is led away by tall men--her father's guardians and nothing more, and she cries herself to sleep in her brother's arms who tell her, who whisper to her that she should be strong, that father is hurt, that mother is no longer here.
But she doesn't listen, and she keeps crying, remembering her father's loving hugs and her mother's warm smiles.
Every year, she keeps trying, a gift cradled preciously in her hands.
And years later, surrounded by winter and frost marred by the red of her father's blood and dirtied by the soot of flames, she finds not a single present unwrapped.
finite~
A/n: Again, hoping I didn't butcher them too much. ><;;;