Sins of the Father | Sebastian x OFC (Caroline Rookwood) | Ominis x Garreth

I Wish...

Ominis

**

The fire simmered to a smolder and the roaring heat dwindled to a calm warmth in the cottage, while the smell of wood smoke and pine gently brushed through Ominis' hair. Soft waves crashed along the shore of Tinsworth and blanketed his form when the cottage's clock began to strike midnight as he read by the window of the little guest bedroom.

But the peaceful sounds of Tinworth did little to ease his worries at the din beyond the bedroom door. He jumped at the clatter, the racket of pots, pans, and porcelain dropping and breaking on the floor.

"Circe's tits!"

Ominis' brows knitted at his Aunt Noctua's voice. She had been scurrying around all Christmas Eve, fussing with dishes and plates, decorations, stoking the fireplace, the ham, roasting chestnuts, and over him. He should have smiled and tucked himself deeper into the armchair, content himself with his aunt's usual endearing attention. But Ominis could not deny his growing concern when both his aunt and Tobbs were fussing. 

"Oh! Where is the blasted—"

"Tobbs has found it miss! Tobbs has got it here!"

He wondered what 'it' was that he was relegated to the guest bedroom of his aunt's cottage, "A—are you both alright, Aunt Noctua?"

There was silence beyond the door, the clink of silverware and whispers halting at Ominis' voice.

"Are you sure you don't need help?"

He waited—the pad of soft footsteps stopping just outside the wooden door with a soft sigh before the creaking turn of the knob and his aunt's voice entered the bedroom slowly.

"Is something wrong?"

"N—no, no. Nothing is wrong,"

"Are you sure? You and Tobbs seemed to be having some difficulty. Which seems unlikely considering Tobbs is excellent in the kitchen."

The proud titter of the house elf sounded conflicted, pleased, and agitated all at once, behind his aunt as she sighed, "I... insisted."

"Insisted?" he asked, confused.

"Lady Noctua wants to make biscuits, she did!"

"Biscuits?" Ominis' brows rose, "B—but why?"

He received a weighty silence as his answer, the shift of his aunt's feet on the wooden floor worrying him with each passing second. Whatever was troubling her so? Did he do something wrong? Surely, not—Tobbs would have told him. Certainly, the house elf's moods were far better clues than his aunt's varied answers that day—high-pitched, silent, or chattering hurriedly, explaining that 'everything was always fine'.

"W—well— oh! How about presents?"

"Presents?"

"Y—yes?" Ominis raised a brow, feeling his aunt tug at his arm, "Presents! We love presents, here don't we?"

He could hear the slight groan from Tobbs, the slight wheeze from his resounding 'yes' wringing with underlying panic. Ominis bit his cheek— it was no secret that Aunt Noctua loved Christmas—and took all efforts to spoil those she loved and cherished, often plying them with presents.

"Are you sure you're fine? Should we not open them tomorrow for Christmas?"

"I'm quite fine, darling! Why, it's practically Christmas—why don't we open them now and have you enjoy a lie-in, yes?"