To the Dark, she went, her mother, cradling life in her belly, that squirmed and writhed, like worms, like maggots, inching their way forth into the world. With guttural laughter that is pained and panting, she slowly dances, her broadened figure moving with growing urgency, and, as her hooves first sing out on the stone and ice of the wind hewn channels of the glaciers, into the icy passages of the blue rimmed ever-dark, she glances behind her but once, for any who follow.
With gaze hatefully narrowed she selects her cavern, known from the branches of this ice slicked labyrinth of tunnels; the glow of the half-Moon pierces through the slightest rift in the roof of the otherwise entirely slaked in ice room, some ten meters by ten, and though the chilly, autumn wind croons a haunting, mournful song as it passes that severed awning of stone and frozen water, it is not so cold here.
Her breath does not even show upon the air as she labors, as she groans and winces, shrilly bites the stillness with her cries. With hooves that stamp and dig, and teeth that grit and grind, she rises and falls with the panging needs of her body, her laughter, or pained whimpers and cries, occasionally growing into the fevered pitch of snarls. With a last roar of effort and rage, it is done; sickeningly falling to the floor in a pile of limbs and placental residue.
She hopes it is dead, even when it stirs as she opens the seal on the viscous sheath which holds the small thing within it, utilizing the tip of her horn most delicately. Her small, single pupil nearly vanishes, becomes a quivering dot in her wide eyes, her nostrils heaving open to pull in the smell of blood and fluid. Saliva builds in her mouth (the natural desire to clean), and her twisted mind narrows in upon the dark filly she has birthed, slathered in the dampness of birth, and helpless.
Cackling, she raises a hoof, her head twisting to the side, though her eyes do not leave the face of the fawn she has dropped to the ice. That pale hoof rises over that small face, hovers, some feet above, and the demoness’ mouth splits wide with eagerness to smash that which had tormented her so from within…
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