Second –

This is how you greet the world. You don't know yet if it sets a precedent, just as you don't know the pain and fear you've already caused dear mother... But that doesn't matter. You're here now, perfect you, child of heaven's darkest face. Your little body came out delicate to match the moon at her thinnest (meanest) mood: all spindles and curves, light and airy, a dancer's touch to the limbs and an artist's touch to the face. These render you a fragile creature for now, a collection of porcelain bones under covers of damp velvet.

Lightly, you stir in the grass. New lungs heave beneath the svelte curve of your ribs, and when the air comes in, it bites, doesn't it? You didn't expect living to be so hard. And you don't have the wits to think on it (yet) but we're back to precedent again as you seek toward the encompassing scent of her somewhere nearby, a scent still blanketing you in a film of blood and afterbirth. Your child's mind calls the scent safe - home. And that's what draws you up the first time. Your legs don't work so well; like everything else it comes hard at first, a struggle up from the safe darkness of Mother, from the cold skin of the ground. You do it anyway. The fresh heart singing in your breast says live, says struggle, so you do. Your limbs are narrow, shaking, but they hold. And when they don't - she's there, a soft touch and a welcome strength. You're safe. Pretty soon you're clean, too.

So far, so good: you got out all right, got up, and now you're just sorta standing here. To be fair, that took a lot out of newborn you. Your baby brain's not a clever thing at all; it still flickers near overload with all the new shit it's gotta do. So maybe we'll forgive you for not noticing the other one just yet. You all kinda smell the same, after all, and just a second ago you were losing your shit about Mom and standing up and -- yeah, there she is.

You see her moving out the corner of your eye, feel her lips just brush the soft down edge of your wing, and it's so goddamn surprising you kinda fall down. Only - you really wanna be upright, so just one half of you falls as all your too-long legs backpedal like bicycle wheels. Holy shit, you've got a sister! She's new, so she's way more interesting than Mom. Your little wings flip and your tail flicks and your lips make a grabby motion like mine mine mine because you're hungry too and you wanna sniff her but also eat something. You make it upright again and try to sniff her, maybe grab her mane if she gets close enough. She's all bright and pretty, warm and home smelling, and you love her already. Unfortunately, she isn't edible. Instinct kicks in there, and after bumping around for a minute you bump back toward Mom. Hunger's the overwhelming master of the moment. You can check out your twin and whatever the hell else is going on after your belly's full.

You don't notice dawn breaking over your back. Your head cranes toward Mama's belly instead, drawn by centuries of honed evolution. So you don't see the sun smiling on you, or your mom smiling at you, or anything really. You don't even have the wits to appreciate yet how goddamn lucky you are, how perfect this moment is, and you'll forget it pretty soon, anyway.

But I'll tell you this: you couldn't ask for a much better beginning.