Nanny ash was many things. Strict, poised and wise. She was also intimidating, malicious and terrifying.
Many of the stuff feared the elderly women, though some saw through her harsher layers. Finding the mournful women underneath.
You see, a decade ago she lost someone dear to her. A man who was unlike any other. One who live through war with grace and faced hell with a smile.
"Nanny?" A pale, lean Man whispers from his spot beside her .
"Yes, warlock? “ the tired red head hums, turning her head to gaze at the man.
And for a moment, the thirty year old felt twenty five years younger. Staring up at the women who seem fueled by the flame of hell, who, in a rare moment, allow herself to skip from her heinous persona and reveal that she is indeed human.
She felt anger, she felt fear, she felt joy, she felt love, and she felt loss.
"Are you okay?" Warlock wonders,
For a moment, a faint smile lingers on the serpents face before fluttering away once more.
"Yes, my little hellspawn," The older women pause shifting her gaze from Warlock to the Garden, "just thinking,”
A moment of silence pass between the two. The pair gazing off into the garden, taken back to a time before.
"We can visit him if you want to," Warlock offers, looking to the sleeping babe in Ashtoreth's arms.
Warlock, now an adult with his own spawn to tend to. Of course contacted his old nanny for help, not trusting anyone else to tend to his young whilst he worked.
At least that's what he tells her. You see he worried for her. Though she wasn't his mother, she was family. She was with them through thick and thin.
She held his mother when she mourned for his unborn little sister. Captured his first steps and distracted them through those drills.
She was a foundry.
"Warlock, I might retire for the night my dear," the dear nanny whispers, cautiously hanging the wane to Warlock, who in turn whispers a gentle, "Sleep well ma'am, we'll see you in the morning."
With a smile and a nod. Ashtoreth slips off of the veranda, traveling through the garden to the cottage. Following the stone path with spiritual familiarity.
Tipping the needle into the worn out record player, Ms Ashtoreth felt her body sink into the old, floral couch. Her eyes fluttering close as she slowly drifts to sleep.
The room was barren. a calming gradual gradient of greys and blues. Well, barren except for a ling phonograph. Of which hummed a slow tune.
“Hello my dear, “ a familiar voice whispers
"Francis? Is that really you? tears began to well within the women’s eyes.
Before her stood a figure, a round young man. As he had been many years ago.
A fond sob leaves her, as she wraps her arms around the stout man, “ I’m sorry I took so long.”
"Would’ve wait forever my love," The gardener hums, cupping the red heads cheek, gazing at her like she hung the stars.
May I have this dance?