Valve had never been a mother, and she likely never would be. She was not a bringer of life—she couldn’t be—and even though she had never tested this notion, there was a part of her that knew it was true. Like how the water knew it was wet.

A cry from a familiar voice pierced the suspended stillness and Valve could feel the heaviness of death in the air. It was a sensation she knew well—a condition she often embraced when it was necessary, and a circumstance she brought forth on more than one occasion. Valve could not be a life-giver because she was a life-taker, and it was impossible to be both.

As she drew closer to the source of the sound, she saw two mares. One, in a heap nestled into the sand she recognized. Priya. The black mare watched them for a moment, slowly piecing together what had happened. The girl with the strangely curved ears had given birth and something was wrong. The foal was dead.

Before long, Valve was upon them both.

“There is no helping her,” she said without emotion, staring deep into Priya’s glittering eyes. How terrible it must have been for the young girl to find out she is a life-taker this way, especially since it was apparent she wanted the opposite.

Valve looked to the other mare, studying the shadows that clung to her coat with a smoldering intensity, trying to determine if the heavy shroud of death that surrounded all of them was only from the stillborn at their feet or if it was something more.

VALVE
slenderman x black heart machine