This had certainly not been what her mother had felt, surely not. She had always been showered in love and affection from her mother, a part of her life she remembered even five years onward. If this was what her mother had felt with her in womb, then she imagined she would not have been showered with such love. She felt no joy, no ecstasy over the growing life within her - she felt nothing. They would not be able to live a full life, neither she or them, if they were to enter the world. She would be shunned by her Art, unable to practice in fear of her own children being slaughtered before her and they would forever be in danger. She had broken their Creed but she was adamant on correcting the wrongs she had performed. To think, it was bad enough that she had fraternized at all with a male but even worst, the black eyed creature that stalked Fathom and she from afar.
They were too much of a risk for her and themselves. Still, despite the hollowness that resonated within her, some small part of her cried out for her to stop - do not kill them, do not wash them away in the river before their lungs feel the first touch of a breath. It was a small part but enough to drive her onward, enough to drive her to find another solution. Nobody could know, not even Heyel or Lucid. They were born of demonic blood according to Heyel and would live their lives Marked. Too much risk, far, far too much.
It was night when she sought her mother, the same as it had been night every other time they had sought one another out. It was within the darkness and silence of such a time that she was kept away with her own demons chewing at her insides and with the roundness of her belly hardly disguised beneath her fur, time was not waiting for her. And so, she had set off to her mother's den, blank faced and almost robotic in her movements - she was on a mission, and approached it as such. She was going to Assassinate the two demons that crouched within her - it was to help them, to save them all.
"Mother," she merely called, her voice quiet as she stood at the entrance of her mother's den. She watched the shadows, finding the most peculiar of scents laced in the soil - Beowulf, for starters, but a scent that reminded her of herself. Pregnancy, perhaps, the curse of winter or so it seemed. She frowned at the thought of more siblings, her aging mother's body undergoing such trauma. They'd all been cursed.
"Mother, I need your help. Winter has cursed me - I must lift it. Surely there is a herb, some strange root, that will cure me of such a burden."
She did not wait, did not exchange formalities. This was business, an end to a means or so she hoped. What if she were to be tormented by Fate, unable to rid her body? Unable to save the children that had come too soon? There were no prayers that she knew, no prayer she hadn't uttered that would rid the demon from within her. Her right hand told her to crush them and yet, her left told her that they deserved to live. They would not be like Covet, like the black eyed beast. They could be saved, but at what cost? The loss of her own life? A life half lived?
wraith
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