He didn't care if the name Avelisse wasn't typical for a boy. He only cared about how he wanted the child to be named after her, to be reminded that he was always going to be longing for her from now on—that he wished to always hold her memory close.
The baby was fair and soft-skinned. He opened his eyes wide and looked up at Theron, clear, bright, and quiet. He did not cry. He did not fuss.
Yet in Theron's eyes there was no tenderness. Only revulsion.
His mother's face darkened sharply. Lines deepened between her brows.
Without a moment's thought, she spoke sharply and angrily. "That name! Never! She was nothing but a nuisance! She does not deserve to be remembered!"
"Does she not?" Theron lifted his gaze, cold and hard, and looked straight at her. "Very well. One name, then." Theron
