Scorpio × The Hearthkeeper
The fire on the stove isn't only warm; it's the stare that pins you and won't let you leave.
Quiet on the surface, deep all the way down. The Hearthkeeper savors small present things, a dusk crescent, a warm pot, the close lamp; Scorpio gives that gentleness a floor you can't see the bottom of. You look easy to know. You aren't.
Procyon is warm and near, and that's the face you show, the one who notices your cup's empty and fills it. Underneath, Scorpio is reading everything and keeping most of it, the seating, the silences, who didn't say thank you.
The catch is the held silence. The Hearthkeeper doesn't make a fuss and Scorpio doesn't forget, so the small slights settle into the still water for months, and then one day the pot finally boils over and nobody saw it coming, least of all the person across the table.
Say the small thing while it's still small.
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A mirror, not a prophecy. It reflects you as you are right now. How you walk is still yours to choose.