It goes through my mind like a whirlwind, passing through my thoughts as shallow gusts of glances coming and then disappearing.
Faye, sitting by the woodfire- fragile, tired, cold- with her son Atreus sitting next to her in a quiet night. She starts telling a story to him; she does it every night when Kratos leaves for months at a stretch. Her eyes, warm and gentle, look at him differently tonight. She seems ill yet pleasant to watch- calm, smiling, at peace. Atreus lands his head in her lap and she starts to ruffle his hair while continuing with her story. I imagine Faye to be thoughtful, she seems sad about something she could not say. She looks into the gleaming fire vacantly for a long time all the while telling her wonderful tale to Atreus who is half asleep by now. By the time Faye is done telling the story, Atreus is fast asleep in Faye's lap. She looks at Atreus, sleeping in peace and her eyes well up in tears. She softly kisses on his forehead and keeps caressing his hair even in sleep. "Be ready. You must be ready, my son."
I am reminded of that night; Faye's last.
The fire was still burning, throwing light on her Pale face. She started to lean swiftly towards her right and lay down on the floor to finally fall into a deep slumber. Her hand; still resting on Atreus' head.
But her fingers did not move through his hair anymore. Faye was no more...