don't you worry | honeybee

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    She was on her own when her youngest child came to her, almost in pieces over one of her many bees. Sangria never cared for the insect (she could vaguely recall not wanting to associate with someone who might have kept bees, at an early point in her life. She was glad her opinion changed,) but her daughter was enamored with them, and almost rightfully so. Sangria knew how sometimes names influenced lives, and she was purely grateful that her daughter's bees cared for her, too. Nonetheless, Sangria held the injured bee in her paw, examining its torn wing. Even if she was rather apathetic towards them all (aside from her daughter's favorite,) she couldn't watch another living being suffer.


    "What happened to them?" she asked, hoping to keep her daughter from full on crying, if she was able. Her gaze lingered on her darling Honeybee for only a moment before she slipped the injured bee onto a nearby table, slipping steps away to try and find something lightweight to past the wing back together.


    HONEYBEE .

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