Written for the Caesar's Palace Monthly Oneshot Challenge. Prompt: "When David Heard" by Eric Whitacre. Text: "When David heard that Absalom was slain, he went up into the chamber and over the gate and wept, and thus he said, "My son, my son, O Absalom my son, would God I had died for thee! O Absalom, my son, my son!" 1 Samuel 18:33
Also fits (regrettably) the Caesar's Palace Prompts Vivid Challenge Prompt 11: Eyeball.
Disclaimer: I do not own Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children. No copyright infringement is intended.
She visited his room every day. From the time she'd created this loop, she'd scheduled it in amongst her daily chores—cooking the children's meals, making sure the children got sufficient fresh air and exercise, killing the Hollowgast—but this one must never become merely a chore. It was her daily reminder of how she had once failed in her duty to protect her children. Her daily recommitment to its never happening again.
The door at the end of the long hallway was securely closed and locked. She turned the key and entered the room, examining the gauzy curtains and white sheets to make certain they were undisturbed. Excellent. It was best that the children should stay away from this room, especially Bronwyn. For her children's sake, she could not allow herself to forget, but it was best that they should try to. Children ought to be preserved from unpleasant matters as much as possible; it was an Ymbryne's duty to bear such burdens for them.
She brushed aside the curtain and perched on the edge of the bed, gazing down into Victor's pallid, eyeless face. She let her thoughts drift back to a time when those eyes sparkled with life and mischief. She remembered the way, after returning from a day of romping at the beach or roaming the marshes, he would pick her up by the waist and spin her around in a way that was most undignified. She recalled how his favourite spot during movie time was on the floor at her feet, so she might gently scratch his back or run her fingers through his hair. He was such an affectionate boy, her Victor. He always liked to have someone touching him, whether it was Bronwyn or Claire nestled in his lap, or Millard or Hugh wrestling with him—and not a single injury in all those years for all his Peculiar strength, bless the gentle boy—or Emma or Olive resting safe and calm against his shoulder. He had never shown any romantic interest in either of them; he had simply been everyone's big brother, always ready with a hug.
She ran a hand through his hair now, yearning to hear that familiar sigh of content she remembered from so long ago. He had always seemed so contented. It had always been Enoch whom she had worried about, and later, when Abe left, Emma. Never had she dreamed it would be Victor—her sweet, contented Victor—who would run away from the loop and straight into the tentacles of a Hollowgast. It had not even seemed within the realm of possibility. And now… now she would never know why.
Suddenly unable to control herself, she picked up her murdered boy and drew him to her breast, sobbing. "Oh, Victor, my child," she whispered into his hair. "Oh, my child, I'm so sorry."
In life, he would have been the first to comfort her had she ever been so careless as to let him see her crying. Now he lay limp in her arms, still and silent. Her daily visits to his room were a reminder that she must never let such a thing happen again, but even if she kept these children safe in this loop for a thousand years, she would never be able to atone for the loss of this one.