triplets

Part 2

Penelope hated rainy days. Hate was a strong word to describe a toddlers anything because so frequently toddlers would scream or cry over the merest discomfort. Rather than emotions like hatred, toddlers merely reacted to positive, negative, or neutral stimuli around them with their only recourse as a weak and defenseless child.

That was why it was such a definitive thing for Penelope to hate them.

She didn't pitch a fit, she didn't weep or yell, Penelope merely glared hatefully out into the outside world from the safety of her dry nursery with the sort of malcontent that one would expect from an elderly person who'd learned to distrust all of society and had a particular disdain for anyone who disrupted their peaceful wait for death to claim ownership of their soul.

Described less grimly, Penelope had a hatred that appeared to have matured with time rather than childish dislike.

It was quite disconcerting on a two year old.

Although the Henituse triplets were all a bit disconcerting if you paid too much attention to them.

Cale toddled over to wear his younger sister was glaring out into the rain and touched her shoulder. Penelope flinched away and glared at him before calming down.

Something inside of her that she had no name for caused her a deep dislike and distrust for the concept known as 'brothers'. Whenever she tried to work her small mind into finding the source, she only found unsettling memories that didn't quite fit with the reality she lived in and Penelope was too small at two to construct those memories into a sensible order.

All she could understand was that brothers were a bad thing.

Which caused quite a bit of cognitive dissonance for her because Cale and Roksu were both quite likable and kind, in their own unique ways. She just didn't have the emotional capacity to trust that kindness.

It was a complicated problem for a two year old to tackle.

"Is okay." Cale said, his pronunciation much stronger than other toddlers at his age but still having that childish lilt that made toddler talk difficult to decipher. "I'm here."

Penelope frowned at her brother but nodded.

Sometimes it felt undeniable that twins, or triplets in this case, really did have a language all their own. The exchange ought to have been a heartwarming moment of comfort between siblings. A tiny toddler comforting his sister from her fear of the rain through the simple sentiment that he'd remain at her side.

And yet, that didn't seem quite right.

To the careful observer, and Ron was nothing if not a careful observer, there was more to those words.

The nursery was a quiet place.

The three rarely cried or pitched a fit, although Cale would on occasion throw bottles and the like with such force and precision that it was unnerving, in some ways it ought to have made them the perfect children. Obedient, intelligent, respectful, and blissfully quiet.

Ron looked for silence in assassination targets, not toddlers. Even his own son who'd been forced to grow up quickly due to the horrors of his childhood hadn't been so mature. And Beacrox had been forced to mature at a much older age than these literal toddlers.

For some of the servants, it made the nursery a creepy place. They didn't wish to be near such unsettling children.

Perhaps Ron was strange but he quite liked them, even if he found their maturity disquieting.

They all had such distinct personalities for such a young age. For example, their feelings towards Ron were all quite unique.

Cale was attached to him. So much so that Ron could reluctantly admit to himself that it was a bit endearing. The child sought him out the most and behaved the most childishly next to him than any of the other servants, almost as though Ron had somehow earned his trust.