Kafka’s words hung in the air like a bell toll, and for a heartbeat Vanitas forgot to breathe. Her heart stopped, her entire body trembling when that single word slipped past his lips.
...Mom.
Her eyes widened in shock, then instantly filled with tears.
"My son..." She whispered, her voice breaking. "He...He called his mother. He called Mom."
Her hands flew to her face, trying to hide the flood that burst forth, but no matter how she rubbed at her cheeks the tears kept streaming. They spilled faster, warr, overwhelming her pride and composure.
She laughed and sobbed at the sa ti, giggling through hiccupped cries.
"I-I always dread of this mont. Always. I thought it was impossible, just a cruel dream that would never co true. But now...to hear it from your lips, with your eyes looking at like that...I’m so happy."
"I’m so happy I don’t even know what to do with myself!"
She staggered slightly, clutching her chest, overwheld by a joy so sharp it hurt.
"It’s all right, Lady Vanitas." Evangeline said warmly as she ca forward to comfort her. "Enough tears. You’re reunited with your son now, so it’s ti to smile. Ti to be happy."
She leaned closer, grinning faintly.
"Besides, you don’t want to leave a bad impression, do you? You’ve made yourself out to be the most powerful figure in the heavens. Do you want him to think his mother is a crybaby?"
That jab made Vanitas stiffen. Her back straightened instantly, and she thrust her chest out, wiping furiously at her cheeks.
"A crybaby?!" She barked, her voice dripping with offended arrogance. "?...Never. I am Vanitas, the Incarnation of Pride. The epito of grandeur. I would never allow my own son to think I’m so...weeping ss!"
Kafka couldn’t help but smirk at her flustered attempt to save face, finding it both amusing and strangely endearing.
And yet, when Vanitas turned back to him, her expression softened into sothing tender and uncertain. She fiddled with her fingers, her usual confidence replaced with an almost girlish shyness.
"So...what next?" She asked quietly. "We’ve finally reunited, after all this ti. I’ve waited for this day for longer than I can say...but now that it’s here...I don’t know what to do. I never planned this far." Her voice faltered. "What...What should we do?"
Kafka blinked, then gave her an awkward little smile.
"Honestly? I don’t know either. I can handle all sorts of situations. I can adapt to almost anything life throws at ...But this? A mother and son, estranged for so long, finally reuniting?"
He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head.
"Yeah, I’ve got no idea how to handle this."
They both stood in silence for a mont, until Kafka’s eyes lit up suddenly, as if struck by a simple truth that ca from what he first did with Abigaille when he first t her and the first request given to him.
"But..." He said slowly. "The first thing that cos to mind in these kinds of monts...is a hug."
Vanitas’s lips twitched and she actually jumped, her body stiffening like the word itself was a threat.
"A...hug?!"
Kafka tilted his head. "Yeah. You know, when two people embrace and hold each other. Why are you acting like I said sothing terrifying?"
Vanitas’s cheeks flushed faintly. She looked away, fidgeting, clearly embarrassed.
"It’s not that I’m scared or anything." She muttered. "It’s just...I’ve never...hugged anyone before. Not once. In all my existence." Her lips trembled into a shaky little laugh. "And the fact that the first person I’ll ever hug...will be my son...well, that’s...quite the scary thought, don’t you think?"
Kafka blinked at her, his heart clenching at the honesty in her words. Then, after a long pause, he let out a soft chuckle.
"Co on." He murmured, spreading his arms wide. His voice was gentle but full of warmth as he said, "It’s not that hard, and it’s really not scary at all. A hug...it’s one of the greatest things in the world. It gives more warmth than any fire ever could."
He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a small, reassuring smile.
"Co on ahead. Try it out...Give your long lost son a hug, Mom."
He held his arms open, a clear invitation, his eyes steady and kind.
Seeing this, Vanitas slowly turned her head toward Evangeline like she was asking if she should do it and in response, Evangeline gave a small, encouraging nod and a smile, as if to say go on.
That look gave Vanitas just enough courage. She took one slow step, then another, until she was standing right in front of him. Her fingers trembled as she reached out, hesitating like soone about to touch sothing sacred.
She bent down a little, she was taller than him, and, very gently—wrapped her arms around his body. Her touch was as delicate as a butterfly’s wing to which Kafka let out a small laugh.
"Co on." He said softly, his voice teasing but tender. "Harder. I’m not a baby. I can handle a real hug."
Vanitas looked down at him, their eyes suddenly so close she could see her own reflection in his.
"But even though you say that, to ..." She whispered. "...to , you’re still a baby. I never got to raise you into the man you are today, so in my eyes, you’re still that little boy I held in my arms...I’m scared I’ll break you."
Kafka chuckled again, shaking his head slightly.
"You won’t. You gave an unbreakable body, an immortal one, rember? Nothing you do can hurt . Go ahead. Hug like you an it."
A look of realization and then resolve appeared on Vanitas’s face. She drew in a breath and, just as he said, she grabbed him close, pulling him tight against her chest until his face was buried there.
For the first ti in her entire existence, she held her grown son in her arms. His warmth seeped into her like sunlight after an endless winter.
Kafka tilted his head up, his eyes glimring with emotion, a smile tugging at his lips. "Feels good, right?" He murmured.
In that mont, a mory surfaced of how he had once tricked Abigaille into giving him a hug by claiming he didn’t know how.
But this was different.
This was real.
This was maternal love, pure and unmasked. And now he was giving that sa first hug to his own mother. He couldn’t help but feel proud of that.
Vanitas’s confusion, fear, and hesitation also lted away. The mont she hugged her son, a wave of warmth washed over her body so intense it left her dazed.
Tears welled up in her eyes again, but this ti they sparkled with joy. She drew back just enough to look at him, her lips trembling into a deep, radiant smile.
"I’m hugging my son." She whispered, her voice breaking. "I’m actually hugging my son."
Then she laughed and cried all at once, throwing her head back.
"Oh my God, Kafka! I’m hugging my son!"
And the Kafka’s shock, in a sudden burst of joy—she lifted him up and spun him around like he weighed nothing, holding him like a princess in her arms while she played the role of prince.
"My baby boy! I’m hugging my baby boy, the sa baby boy I lost so many years ago. I’m actually hugging him right now!"
Her laughter turned almost wild with happiness.
"This has to be a dream, it has to be! Such happiness can’t exist in reality!"
Tears stread down her cheeks as she spun him again.
anwhile, Kafka, completely overwheld, sputtered and blushed, his hands awkwardly gripping her shoulders.
"C-Calm down, Mom, calm down! I’m not the one who’s supposed to be spun here, it’s usually the man who spins the woman!"
But Vanitas only pressed him closer, laughing through tears.
"I don’t care! I’m just too happy right now! I can’t hold myself back, I want to hug you and spin you forever!"
Her voice cracked, but her joy was unshakable. She stopped spinning and squeezed him even tighter, lifting him off his feet, pressing his face against her chest again.
"I’m hugging my son, my dear son, right next to ! I’m so happy! I’ll never, ever let you go again, Kafka, I promise!...I’ll love you for the rest of my life and give you every bit of love you deserve!"
Kafka’s heart hamred in his chest. Tears pricked at his eyes again as he hugged her back at last.
"There’s no need to rush yourself, Mom." He said softly, rubbing her back in slow, gentle strokes. "Take it slow. I’m just happy you’re here...Back with ."
The warmth of her body, the sll of her hair, the weight of her arms around him, these were things he had dread of for so long, things he had convinced himself he’d never have.
Yet here they were, real at last.
For the first ti in his life, Kafka felt the genuine warmth of his mother. And it felt like a dream that had finally, finally co true.
But then...sothing changed.
The embrace, once tender and careful, grew tighter.
At first, Kafka thought she was simply overwheld with joy, clutching him as though she’d never let go.
But soon, he realized it was more than that. Her fingers pressed harder into his back, not painful, but sharp, digging in with an intensity that made his body stiffen.
"Mom...?" He muttered softly, trying to laugh it off.
And then it happened.
He felt her face lower toward his neck, her breath hot against his skin.
At first, it seed like another sign of affection, just a mother taking in the scent of her son.
But the way she inhaled...deep, sharp, feral...it wasn’t right.
It wasn’t gentle or sweet.
It was primal. Animalistic.
Kafka froze, his chest tightening as her breaths grew heavier. She sniffed again, almost greedily, as if savoring him. His pulse quickened, panic trickling in.
"Lady Vanitas..." Evangeline’s voice wavered, the light of concern flickered in her eyes.
Sothing was wrong. Very wrong and she had a idea of what it was, which made it even more shocking to her as this wasn’t supposed to be happening now.
And just then...Vanitas’s voice broke the silence.
But it wasn’t the tender, maternal tone she’d spoken with monts before.
No, this was low, sultry, dripping with passion that sent a chill down Kafka’s spine.
"My boy, Kafka...My sweet boy." She purred, her voice trembling with sothing darker. "He’s finally in my hands. And he slls so good...so deliciously good. I want to breathe him in...forever."
She pressed her face against his neck, inhaling again, her words muffled but filled with hunger, while Kafka’s eyes widened, shock flooding him.
That voice, those words, it wasn’t right.
He pulled back, struggling in her grip. "Mom...? What are you doing? Why are you looking at like that?"
But when she lifted her gaze to et his, he nearly recoiled.
Gone was the soft glow of a mother’s love.
Her violet eyes now burned bright, wild, ravenous.
A crazed hunger swirled in them, the very sa gaze that had unsettled him once before when he saw it in Olivia earlier today.
A lust-filled gaze...One no mother should ever give her child.
His heart skipped in horror. ’No...no, this can’t be real.’
"M-Mom, stop! This is wrong!" He panicked, pushing at her chest, but her arms only tightened, dragging him closer.
"My son...My son..." She whispered sweetly, almost as if she were fighting sothing within herself. Her smile was radiant, but her trembling lips betrayed the struggle. "I...I can’t...hold back..."
Kafka’s blood ran cold. Her face descended closer, closer, her lips hovering near his own.
Not for a kiss on the cheek.
Not an innocent peck on the forehead.
No—she was aiming straight for his lips!
"Wait! No, stop, this is scary! Let go!" Kafka cried out, his arms straining, but she was far too strong.
His immortal body couldn’t be broken, but her divine grip was immovable. Her breath mingled with his as her lips drew near, and terror jolted through him.
But just then, when he thought that he was going to be tonguing his own mother—
"Lady Vanitas!" Evangeline’s voice thundered through the chamber. "That’s enough! Stop right there!"
Her tone was sharp, commanding, unyielding.
"Unless you want to traumatize your son and make him push you away again, you better stop this very instant!."
Hearing this threat, Vanitas froze. The wild gleam in her eyes flickered, then shattered.
The lustful glow in her eyes flickered, then faded, replaced with wide-eyed horror. She blinked rapidly, her expression shifting back to the loving, concerned mother she had been monts before.
Realization struck her like lightning.
She gasped, releasing Kafka so quickly that he nearly stumbled and her hands shook as she took a step back, then another, staring down at them in disbelief.
"I...I..." She stamred, her voice breaking. Her gaze darted from Kafka’s frightened face to her trembling hands. "What...What have I done?"
anwhile, Kafka staggered back, chest heaving, his mind spinning in shock. His heart still raced, unable to process what just happened.
Just monts ago, he had been embraced by his mother, whole and complete.
But in an instant, that warmth had twisted into sothing terrifying, sothing he never imagined he’d see in her.
He stared at her, confusion and fear etched across his face.
’Why...Why did it look like my mother was about to...have her way with ?’
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