I do not know how long I slept after collapsing post whelping, unconscious and utterly exhausted and spent from the entire process. All I know is that when I woke, the two pups that I had pushed out of me were still by my side, resting contently. My teats were sore - swollen, aching and needing to be nurses from so as to release the pressure. As soon as I had my balance, I had picked them up, and carried them to my den, a burrow crafted from soil and woven roots above. Neither woke along the way, and once there, I had gone immediately back to sleep. I was a fool to think that I would go through it without being affected, and perhaps I’ve been a fool all along. All I ever wanted was to have no pain ever again, to never feel the sting of betrayal as I had already too many times. To never feel the grief of loss such as I had with Moth, Henadin, Channing, my entire family, the Sawtooth pack. Cutting off my emotions were supposed to accomplish that, instead what has it brought me? Nothing but stress and headache and heartache and confusion. I take no pleasure in hurting Kirastasia, and yet it seems that that is all I do. I can see the hurt in her eyes anytime I spit venom toward her, and yet I cannot stop it. This was supposed to put me more in control, and yet I have lost all control. I cannot control myself anymore, not even when I am fully conscious. Instead, it feels like I am on a downward slope straight to hell, for that is surely where I will go despite all of my good deeds in my previous life. I have become a cruel and vicious monster… So why then was I graced with new life?
The days turned into weeks, and my newborn twin boys grew quickly. Already, their eyes have opened, granting them of the gift of sight, and already their closed ear canals have spread, gifting them sound. I am finding myself constantly in a state of fear that I will hurt them, either physically or mentally. I am in no shape to be a mother, nor to be a mentor, nor a role model. I am a wretched creature who is now donning a mask so that she will not be a disappointment to her children. Yet even in my own personal darkness, they shed some light. How could they not? They are playful, and give their love unwittingly to each other and to me, despite the fact that I cannot return it. I try, but too long have I stuck myself in this abyss, and despite my desire to return to my old ways, my mind won’t allow it anymore. The facade I willing put on has become permanent, something I cannot doff. I’ve turned into a goddamn psychopath, incapable of emotion. So I go through the actions every day, smiling at them, nuzzling them, but I feel nothing other than despair. And isn’t that a contradiction? If I was a true psychopath, shouldn’t I not be spared from sadness, despair, hurt, guilt? Why has only happiness been robbed from me and nothing else? Still, my pups do bring me some measure of comfort, for they are amusing to me. I do feel protective of them, for they are mine, begotten of my womb, produced by my body. They are my responsibility, and I will do anything for them. Except for the one thing that I wish mostly to give them - love. I can only hope that they will not resent me as they grow, but can I keep up this act? I do not wish to disappoint them, in this, or anything else.
Perhaps eventually they will heal me… But I won’t hold my breath. It hasn’t happened yet.
I can tell that the dawn is breaking. Its streaks of light are breaking through the tightly knitted web of roots above my head. I was already awake, bothered by these thoughts of failure, but the rays fully bring me into my consciousness. It is odd to me that I have not lost control on my consciousness since the pups were born. Prior to their whelping, it had happened all too commonly, once every few days at least. But now, my fugue states have gone oddly quiet. Perhaps I am cured of that at least - after I found out about the secret my mind have thought to keep from me. The secret of my daughter… The one I had previously made with Kershov. I chuckle, a low deep sound echoing in my alto vocals. If someone had told me all those years ago that Kershov and I would reproduce, I would’ve laughed. We were never enemies, we never have been, but he was the enemy of my family, thusly putting us ar odds. But now… He is the only friend that I have, and that, in and of itself, is twisted. I look down at the sleeping forms of my offspring and gently nudge each of them awake. I have to start teaching them something… I need to be useful in someway. And though I made a vow to myself to never heal again, that does not mean that they cannot. We have not broached the subject of my past, why would we? But I do wish to know what things they are interested in, for I wish for them to have the best future possible. If that means bringing them to someone else for teaching and lessons, then so be it. My tongue runs over the crest of each of their craniums, and my snout snuggles against their skin. God, even their scent is innocent, as if their very essence makes them good. I used to think that my essence made me good… But it is tainted, warped. How did that happen? How did any of this happen?
“Rise and shine sleepyheads… It is a new day.”
||Kahlan|| ||Broken Heart|| ||Cracked Soul of Munashii Gekko|| ||Zeta|| ||69cm.:.23kg|| ||Kenryk*Kaukab|| |