~Warmth~
"The twins?" It looked as if the great Artemis Fowl was actually nervous about something, unconfident.
"Yes, your parents had twins while you were away — beautiful baby boys," Butler said amiably. He quickly trotted to the door, taking Artemis in tow. "C'mon, you have to see them."
And moments later, as he peered into the ornately carved crib, something stirred in him — as if it'd been waiting for such an oppurtunity to reveal itself. Like before, when he had felt magic to be blue, he could imagine that this had a color — a soft yellow, warm and spreading like a contagious disease, though not nearly as deadly. It bloomed like a plant, this warm, happy feeling — it heated that heart that had stood through so much hostility and sorrow. It mended and healed, ever twisting, ever turning, just looking at the boys. Those boys, that new life.
New life.
It was about time he'd started one, and now this warmth seemed to be his last ingredient — that thing that was missing before, that first step.
Warmth.
Should I change the title to this? Don't think it quite fits; maybe "New Life" would be better?