In the middle of the night, Pudding worries.
No one knows this, because she waits until the quadruplets and Heicha are fast asleep, having been tucked in and sung to or lulled to sleep with promises of how wonderful life will be one day, although it's not too shabby now. Sometimes they'll awaken in the middle of the night and migrate to her room, crawling into bed with her one by one until she's blanketed and warmed by the bodies of slumbering children; she always chides them for not sleeping in their own beds in the morning in an insincere manner.
But that's later, and in the meanwhile, the facade of warrior and guardian melt away to reveal a little girl who's suddenly very apprehensive about being alone in the dark, willing herself to sleep. It's not like there's anyone to tuck her in.
Deep breaths. This isn't scary. Fighting is scary. Tart is scary, sometimes, when the bravado fades and the immature brat recedes, leaving a fiend with cold, gleaming eyes and teeth that are Sharp. She thinks Kish and the others might have fangs, but Pudding can't remember too well right now. But fighting is scary, actual fighting that results in cuts and scrapes and being thrown across a battlefield while a slavering beast nips at your heels. The thought of dying is terrifying. No, not really. The thought of not coming home to her siblings is terrifying, enough to make her heart actually freeze in her chest, her lungs sucking in nothing and the world is spinning and she can't remember how to breathe-
That is scary.
Comparatively, the dark should pose no threat greater than what the light reveals.
Perhaps Mew Pudding and Pudding Fong are two completely different entities, then, because Pudding huddles beneath her blanket at times like this, arms wrapped around her midsection. She pretends her mother and father are asleep down the hallway, close enough to hear her and come running if she breaks and a scream forces itself between the lips she's squeezed shut.
And with her defenses down, the anxiety creeps beneath the blanket with her, no longer held at bay by her radiant smile. Things a child shouldn't have to worry about - the letter at the end of the month that arrives with precious words for herself and her siblings, and even more valuable money to supplement what she brings in from the cafe and performing in the park. Money is always a source of anxiety, and Pudding wishes she didn't have to worry as much as she does. It would be nice, for the concept to simply be novelty; money for treats at the candy store a few blocks from school, or new ribbons for her hair. The way her classmates see it.
Recently, Pudding's been envying them more and more, although she keeps it locked away in her chest and barely acknowledges its existence.
Other things. Finding the Mew Aqua. Keeping her identity as Mew Pudding from interfering with her life as Pudding Fong; she's not sure what she would do if her siblings got hurt somehow.
The father she hasn't seen in years, who's taken the form of a stack of letters - is he okay? Will she recognize him when he shows up, one day, having mastered all the martial artistry his body can absorb? Will he be proud of his eldest daughter, shouldering a burden that would probably hobble an adult?
These are things a child shouldn't have to worry about.
Pudding worries about them, and chews at her lip in the dark.