Child of Warring Parents

She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest. She sighed, drawing a long, chocolatey, feathered tress behind her left ear as she watched her son pick his way silently and delicatly through the meadow like a fawn, a splotch of white in the sweetpeas and wildflowers. At his feet the tender grasses faded and died, and when his foot left the spot, they stiffened back to life. Birds and butterflies flew in lazy halos over his snowy hair, falling in a choppy style over his topaz eyes. He payed no attention to them, his face still chubby with apple fat set into a serious mask. His brow was furrowed into a pout.
His eyes didn't fit his face. They were older than his body, glowing dully with an intelligence beyong his years.

A/N: I'll be getting to this later. got other things to type up. this goes with a mini series of posts.