Maribelle was used to getting strange looks. She knew that not everyone appreciated her sense of humor, at least not at first, and her time with the Shepherds had taught her that she could be... out of touch with the rabble, to say the least.
She hadn't gotten looks like these from her fellow Shepherds in a while, though. It rather hurt that even in an apocalypse, they didn't trust her to put aside frivolities. But that was their problem, and she ignored them as best she could. She knew what she was doing. She would teach her son to play the violin, and that was that.
Not that she expected it to be easy, of course. No one wanted to use the time or the materials on making instruments, as if one more axe would somehow make a difference against a god. Finding a teacher was next to impossible when the survivors were determined to huddle in their own homes.
She finally settled for giving him her own violin. She'd demonstrate the motions herself, then pass it to him. Already his speech was coarser than she'd like, his manner less refined, but when they stood side by side enveloped my music it didn't seem to matter. This was her son, and she wasn't going to waste what time they had together on trying to change him.
There was so much she wanted to teach him, but she knew that she was already on borrowed time. Each time she left on Shepherd business she promised to come home as soon as she could, but sooner or later she'd have to break that promise. Until then, she did her best to get him to a point where he could practice on his own.
Eventually, the day came when she returned to find that he'd mastered his latest piece in her absence. She'd sobbed for what felt like hours at the time, Brady hovering awkwardly. She did her best to explain how proud she was, but she wasn't sure it got through. Still, the look on his face when he showed her his latest accomplishment got her through the worst of the battles. Her friends were dying and the world was ending and she was powerless, but she could at least do this for her son.
She could give him music, something all too rare in the ruins of civilization. She'd give him beauty, and wonder, and a way to communicate what couldn't be spoken. Most importantly, she'd give him hope.
For all that, she'd gladly endure being the butt of a few jokes. Heaven knew they needed the reprieve from the crushing bleakness.
With any luck, her son could be the same.
(She'd never know it, but long after she fell it was her face Brady would picture when he practiced. Her alternate self would notice the wistfulness on her sort of son's face, but knew better than to pry. In this, at least, he was exactly what she'd expect - beautiful.)