![[Image: cupid-chirpeax.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/wj8G0kHm/cupid-chirpeax.png)
You don't believe I can do it. Cupid felt the words like a shard of ice in his heart, the flow disrupted by the cold and the wound alike. He frowned, ears lowering.
That's not what I -Sverke lunged, predictably riled by his sister's words, and Cupid wasted little time catching him with his body and redirecting the aggression, really anywhere except his daughter. Cupid was, in fact, a little surprised he wasn't rewarded for his manhandling of the leggy teen with teeth in his face. It betrayed Sverke as very little more than a child, who'd lost more than most, frightened and furious at the looming prospect of losing the last tether to stability he had.
The dove-god realized he should have worked harder to be there for Tyr's other children, to be more of a force they could lean on; even this one, despite his sins against Cupid's son. He felt regret for that mistake, but couldn't let himself dwell in it. Sverke finally stopped trying to clamber over Cupid to get to Astrid, and Cupid took a step back to try to deal with his daughter.
Bragi approached silently as ever, so when her voice broke into the conversation, Cupid jerked his chin toward her in bewilderment. He would have expected her to be probably near-catatonic in a hole somewhere considering the nearby loud voices and conflict, but she had instead interjected herself.
It was a sliver of hope amongst the walls-coming-down panic that seemed to be roaring louder than anyone else's vitriolic, shouted voices.
Astrid, however, wasn't quite finished. Her decree rang out icy and sharp.
It cut into him with the precision of a scalpel, left the cast-down godling speechless and flayed to his rawest nerve. The words were unusually cruel, even for his most sharp-tongued child, but the tone was eerily familiar.
Why did his daughter sound like her? Cupid wanted to be sick. Instead, he stood still and stared at her, slack-jawed, confused, hurt.