This is the Laos Legacy feed. Currently working on generation 3! Also, you can read the whole story here: https://thelaoslegacy.tumblr.com/ BlueskyFeedCreator.com
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“He’s here,” Johnny says, his grin widening as he nods. “He’s waiting for you.” He pauses then, his hand sliding down to clasp hers. “But we’ve got time now, baby. All the time in the world.”
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Astrid pulls back just enough to search his face. “I missed you so much,” she breathes out, “I have so much to tell you, so many things I didn’t get to say.”
Johnny smiles softly.
“Elliot,” she blurts, the name tumbling out with sudden urgency. “Is he here?”
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Johnny pulls back just enough to see her face, his thumb tracing the faint outline of her jaw as if he can’t quite believe she’s real.
He leans in slowly, her fingers tighten in his shirt, and when their lips meet, the world around them blurs into light.
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The embrace is fierce, desperate, full of all the years they spent apart and all the words they never got to say.
Astrid clings to him, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. “You’re here,” she whispers, her voice trembling though her body no longer can.
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She runs to him like she’s been waiting lifetimes for this moment, like something inside her finally remembers how to move. And Johnny runs too, the same wild spark in his eyes that once made her fall in love with him.
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The sound comes from behind her; soft, familiar, and impossibly alive. It cuts through the stillness like sunlight through fog. She turns, slowly, almost afraid that her mind is playing tricks on her. But then she sees him.
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The sky glows in hues she’s never seen before, lavender melting into silver, light that doesn’t burn but embraces. The air smells like the first breath of spring after a long winter. And for the first time in years, Astrid feels light. Whole.
“Baby?”
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Crossing the light feels like shedding every burden she’s ever carried. Each step through the glow strips away something heavy, until there’s nothing left but peace.
When Astrid opens her eyes again, she’s standing beneath the same great tree, yet everything around her has changed.
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When Astrid finally steps away, she smiles, a soft, knowing thing, and walks into the light.
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Astrid’s mouth curves into a wistful smile. “Malcolm,” she repeats fondly, the name like a sigh. “Do you think I’ll see him?”
“You will,” she whispers.
Astrid nods once, resolute, as if that’s all she needed to hear. “Alright, then. Tell me what I need to do.”
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“Are you alright, sweetheart?”
“I think I am. Now, at least,” she says. “Before, I wasn’t. It’s hard, what I do. But Grandpa Malcolm helped me understand things… Helped me find a way to breathe again.”
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Raven looks over, puzzled. “You did?”
“Of course I did,” Astrid says, her expression softening as they walk. “You don’t raise a daughter and not recognize when she’s carrying a secret big enough to break her.”
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“You don’t seem surprised,” Raven says after a long stretch of quiet.
Astrid lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh. “I’m not,” she admits, her voice carrying a knowing warmth. “I always knew your mother was keeping something from the rest of us.”
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Through it all, Astrid doesn’t say a single thing. Not a gasp, not a whisper. Just the faintest, sad smile, as if she’d already known somehow. As if she’s simply letting her granddaughter finally speak the truth aloud.
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Astrid walks beside her in silence, her ghostly form gliding more than stepping, the hem of her spectral dress brushing over the grass without a sound.
Raven tells her about everything. About Hex. About what she’s become.
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“I need to take you somewhere,” Raven says softly.
Astrid looks at her for a long moment, studying her granddaughter’s face.
“Okay,” Astrid says finally. “But only if you tell me why you can see me.”
“I will, don’t worry.”
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Raven swallows hard, her throat burning. “Most people aren’t.”
Astrid stands up, and there’s that same, unshakable calm that always made Raven feel safe as a child. “I was never most people, sweetheart.”
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Raven nods once, the motion small and reverent. “I can. Mom too. But others can't. So I think it’s better if you don’t see her right now.”
Astrid lets out a soft hum, her gaze drifting back to the bed where her body lies. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Seeing yourself and feeling fine about it.”
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“Grandma?” Raven says softly. The air feels colder here, touched by something sacred. On the couch, Astrid’s ghost sits perfectly still, her eyes fixed on the lifeless body lying in the bed across from her.
Her expression shifts from confusion to quiet recognition. “You can see me?”
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“I’m so sorry, Mom,” Raven breathes, her voice shaking. Harper’s heartbeat stumbles beneath her ear, uneven and full of grief.
When Harper finally finds her voice, it comes out in a whisper, fragile and trembling. “Tell me she’s not alone, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦.”
“She’s not,” Raven says softly.
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When Raven steps into the house, the quiet hits her first. The kind of silence that feels heavy; like the walls themselves are holding their breath. Shoes by the door. A half-drunk cup of tea on the table. The echo of someone crying not long ago.
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And now, as the shadows stretch longer across the room, it feels impossible to imagine the world without her in it.
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Watching a mother go is never easy. Even when you’ve known it was coming, when time itself has been whispering the warning for months, it still hits like something you could never prepare for.
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Astrid was far from perfect; she never claimed otherwise. She was loud and stubborn. But she loved fiercely, in the only way she knew how; through laughter that filled every room, through stories told over wine, through the way she held her family together when life tried to tear them apart.
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