Tangled, crushed limbs squirm unceremoniously, seeking attention (Gods, I didn't realize it would be this painful) from its host. My ears draw back every time the child moves, striking out against the layers of flesh holding it back from the outside, keeping it imprisoned beneath chestnut hide. They sought escape, to flee their confinement and run wild into the cruel world my body protected them from (I will always keep you safe)— joints prodded and legs unfurled, building tension gathered beneath the dull freckled coat. Soon the pressure would be released, an explosive pop to the swelling of my abdomen, a relief to no longer be weighed down with the reminder of my sin. Instead, I will glue it to my hip (Keep it away from me) and bear it, shamed by its chaotic presence at my side— I do not want it.

The final months are spent lingering at the edge of the Throat, kissing the waters with desperate hooves and weary lips— thinking that perhaps I will submerge myself in the salt ridden waters, bloated and unwell I'll sink to the sand bottom and rest there, rotting away beneath the ocean's surface. Yes, I think that will do. If I just resist the urges to scramble to the surface, let the cold marble of my heavy hooves sink deeper into the rolling sands, inhale the burning water as I succumb to death— then neither I nor the damned babe will have to plague this earth.

The thoughts of death came and went, whispering positively of the outcome, how pleasant the feeling of release will be. They eat away at me, my sleepless mind desperate for the comfort of unconsciousness as the voices infect my head. They do not leave me be, hissing with malcontent at the idea of a child. (I'll kill that thing if you won't, something from a whore doesn't deserve life) They'll come as a collective, washing away my thoughts in turn of their own, moaning into my ears that they know a solution to my ever growing problem. (Starve it out)(Beat it)(Feed it to the wolves) Each syllable flows smoothly into the next, a collective mass seeking the demise of the babe.

In some moments, I begin to believe them, begin to believe that I can let this child go— that with enough force this festering growth inside of me can come to an end and I can pretend it never happened. I consider it deeply, rolling over the idea of ending the babe's life before they can even escape the fleshy prison in which they reside, slipping a lifeless body from between tarnished thighs— sick. The idea sends me reeling, gagging in disgust at the idea of a lifeless mess flopping helplessly onto the ground beneath me. No.

Days before, I flee. I escape the Throat on tired wings and desperation— I cannot let them (her) see me vulnerable and distraught, cannot hope to ruin the babe when there are dozens of eyes watching me (there always are). I take myself away from the sandy island, finding safety beneath the trees of the meadow until the final hours tick by, and the time comes. "You're a sitting duck like this, fat and plump— ripe for the picking. What predator will dare to take the leap, will scurry forth for a scrumptious bite?" The grin stretches wide, corners curling up and glittering golden eyes hungering for the destruction of a family. They seek out my downfall, the great collapse of a weary mind, the slipping of calloused fingers— for too long I've held on, and they're here now to unravel the whittled down strength of character, strength of mind, to tear apart the hope of normality.

White-tipped ears fall back, amber clashing with precious metal as their twisted smile only grows until they're gazing back at me with an impossibly wide grin. Their impatience is unsettling, golden eyes wide and malicious, starved for the blood of innocents as they loom over me at the ready. The time has come, and they are here for the grand finale of it all. With an eagerness none can describe they wait, bay coat trembling with anticipation of the chaos that they'll create— they seek an absolute catastrophe, an irreversible madness to grace my weakened soul.

"Need Sameira now?" The familiar brush of our bond, a soothing presence to keep the instability at bay, gentle touches to the most painful places keep me calm if only for a moment. You are out hunting, seeking the nutrients you'd disregarded in favour of watching over me as I lay open for attack. Now your vigil was over, put on hold as you sought out sustenance. Not now, I'll call you when I do. But I won't, mind subdued in a state of shock and fatigue, torn apart by gnarled fingers.

The pain is intolerable, agonizing and overwhelming as the world falls away at the edges of my vision, replaced by rattling static and terror. Everything is falling apart inside of me, my fragile bones blistering and organs burning away as the babe seeks escape. Dirty thighs spread wide, lustrous hips opened in preparation for the arrival of devil spawn— the voices chant with unsettling joy, cheering as the first signs of distress begin to contort my features. From scarred lips comes a guttural cry, body collapsing as the child begins its journey to the world outside. Nothing has ever felt more disgusting, more wrong in my entire life— the punishment for sin is not worth the three seconds of forgotten pleasure, tearing apart my body with unrelenting force. There is little time to breathe, to take in air, damp with overexertion as another cry tumbles from trembling lips (This is what whore get).

It's everlasting destruction of a weak body, everything giving in to the intolerable pain of a body in labour. Golden eyes watch from a distance, focused solely on the beginnings of a child gathering beneath my tail, hefty grin kept prominent on black lips. They just watched and waited, my turmoil only just beginning. The pain of motherhood was sickening, foul odors clinging to the slick, wet body of the babe as they began to slip free of my hold (Here she comes!). My face scrunches up in the final tantalizing moments, brows knit and sweat dripping from hollow muscles, staining the earth beneath me. "There it is," they coo from somewhere off to the side, devious and wicked as their strides carry them closer and closer. They're hovering over the sopping wet mass of pitch black, golden eyes wide with bewilderment and corners of their lips stretching beyond the cheek— they hum something bittersweet and wretched, throat gurgling as they open their wings to usher my attention to the child. "What a blessing life is, hm? Just look at the state this little shit is in, how disgusting. It's a shame you won't be leaving the way your mother had." Ears draw back and a lip begins to curl, solidified marble rumbling beneath the pressures of motherhood (I will keep you safe). Comfort is found in the final sentence, the cooling liquid between tainted thighs just the aftermath of birth, not the beginning of death.

The babe is there, long limbs and wet fur, a pile of me (and him)— this thing came from me, born of my flesh and blood, curled up defensively with shoulders trembling. Several long minutes are spent gazing down at the life I created, at the babe born of the Damned and the Indomitable— the babe who will suffer too greatly in a life never meant to be. "You're supposed to clean it, warm it up, make it feel loved." Amber slides to spotted ebony, then back to bloodied midnight. My stomach churned with the unpleasant idea of tasting that, tongue hesitant to reach out for the small shoulder—

It tasted wretched.

My mouth screams at the idea of cleaning all of it. Ears flatten and my nose wrinkles, head recoiling from the taste of the babe at my hooves— sick sick sick SIC K SICK SICK. I want to vomit, to release the coiling tension in my gut as I get to cleaning, performing the ritual that I'd so selfishly interrupted when Zhu was born. I still did not understand, even as I cleansed my own child of my bodily fluids, why this was important. Clean away the sins, keep the child fresh, do not tarnish the innocence with your foul existence. I do not want to clean, do not want to deal with the babe at all. Kill it, kill it kill it killitkillitkiLLITKILLIT.

She's pristine, ivory freckled figure slumped against the earth, hugging the soft grasses and daring not to move— if not for the gentle rise and fall of a small rib cage, I would have believed my work to be done for me and left the body for whatever gluttonous animal came by. But no, a small heart beat beneath a shivering breast, precious life contained beneath onyx hide— I hate it. Hate it. They lean forward, sinister words tangled up in my mind as they push their nose towards the filly. "How ugly. Ah! But look!" Horror, purest shock and fear settle upon my face, gut wrenched as the terror eats away at the rationality of my thoughts (What is that? What the FUCK is THAT?).

No, nononononNONONONONONONO why me, why this? There, embedded in the preciously petite head of the newborn, are those same, glittering eyes as those that stare down at me now— gold. The same colour, coated crimson and crunching, tearing beneath the weight of my hooves, soft flesh parting to make way for angry slate hooves. The panic is vocalized, a series of frantic words (Pray, pray that I am merciful! Pray that you will die quickly!) spewed from quaking lips, amber eyes darkened by the unease. (Kill it)(End it now!)(Take the eyes!) Ah— ah. That's when it clicks, snaps, shatters.

No more is the dismay, the violent surprise— the realization of the curse. But there is ease, understanding. That is what I must do, that is what shall become of me now, a harbinger of destruction and terror, marble skin representing the solidified distress of a thousand lives, a million lost souls begging for my mercy. This one particular life, cannot beg, not now, if I succeed, not ever. They praise me quietly, hushed whispers and delicate coos urging me forward, over the weak babe. "Now, do it now. The birth was not quiet so you must be quick, take away the torment, end the pain." Mother's gentle syllables fall from my lips, venomous and fatal as I reach with bared teeth, blunt ivory scraping against new skin. "Hold still."

The process is frantic and messy, uncaring as canines itch to take away the curse, the sign of damnation, of my sins. Beneath a heavy hoof the newborn body squirms, but the hoof does not rise, the teeth do not retreat. Get rid of the disease, get rid of it. They grasp at something malleable and slippery, sawing away at the flesh that keeps it safe, tugging and pulling until— pop. It pulls away, bloodied lips enveloping the loose piece as the distant cries ring through my ears, cutting away at the final attachment. Freely it goes, bile rising at the metallic taste that settles, releasing the eye and letting it get swept away beneath desperate feet. Erase the evidence. The second comes easier, less struggle than the first as shock befalls the black babe— she does not know what's happening, she thinks this is life. It spills from its socket with less scraping and destruction, teeth snapping its connection and letting it roll along, kicking it away from sight. Away it goes, away the torment goes, swept away— torn away by an unidentified conscious, their sick smile only growing.

"More, more!" And so it goes. More is taken, more is ruined. Feeble wings, beaten down and tarnished, unrecognizable as the desperate wails grow louder, shortened to panicked squeals and squirms. It ceases temporarily, replaced by subtle gasps and triumphant bellows. (Look now, look upon this masterpiece! Valdís, o Goddess of Death!) In unison they cry, a foul harmony that awakens the mind and crushes the spirit. Empty amber eyes return, gazing down upon the disaster before me with something that cannot be described, a plummeting of heart and soul that makes me cautious as I step forward— I need not question who has done this, need not ask why. I know the answers. I can taste the blood and the fear, the sweat of terror as I look upon the bloodied mess and weep wholly.

It was I, it was I the Damned who broke the babe, I the Damned who ruined her so— my existence begs to cease, to fall apart and never have to face the pitiful child before me or watch her live so sorrowfully. I do not want to see her grow up so broken, so grotesquely beaten, but I cannot do anything for her now, cannot leave her on her own in a world she cannot see. The words settle on my lips, exhaled through shaky breathes and unrelenting in the way that ravage my mind, crushing my soul as I mourn the loss of myself, the loss of my baby's happiness. Forgive me, "Valdís."

This wasn't supposed to happen— things weren't supposed to go like this. I- I didn't mean to.. I don't know what happened. I just- I did it. I'm sorry, I'm sorry please forgive me what have I done. What have I done to you?

The child, I should have killed it before it came out, before it totaled my womb and tainted me so. I should have starved it out, killed us both. I should have let it rot in there, let it waste away and never let my thoughts linger on it again. I should have done it, should have done it before I brought unnecessary destruction and force, overwhelmed by a need to get it away. All I saw was gold, tattered remnants of too much yet too little. There was gold, soaking in fresh blood, it was everywhere— I could taste it in the back of my throat, feel it caked to my lips. The unpleasant feeling of thick, wet red against curled lips made my stomach quiver, discontent with the taste. And the smell.

Fluids were grotesque, slick and oily the child's skin had been disgusting as it spilled out from between my legs, oblivious to the hatred already growing in my heart. I only needed a push and a shove, a reason for such merciless violence— and it was given to me. With the opening of preciously tinted eyes, metallic and haunting (I- I can't. It reminds me too much of him) as they swallowed up the world. In the moments after, when my body convulsed and tongue tasted bitterly like iron and mucus, I felt the deep regret guilt. I wanted to clean away the evidence, wanted to dump the child into the water and pray that she was never found, never pitied and looked down upon— I wanted her to die. But she was here at my feet, wet with her own blood and my tears, gasping frantically at the overwhelming panic of the situation.

Shock—

She's probably going into shock. My throat is closed, my head light and breathing laboured as I address her wounds with a far less than professional hand, weary and cautious. I was so aware of the damage done, the etchings of my teeth carved into her face, where they began to grow deeper as I'd neared the eye, sought to take. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'msorryI'msosorry. The urgency of the situation still hadn't set in, the idea of losing her when I'd already signed away my life to have her— I worked as quickly as I could, messily trying to dress the wounds with what little experience I had (dammit, dammit! What am I doing?). The tears were just another obstacle to overcome, swallowing gasps of air between shaky movements as the child remained still and quiet. She lost the will to fight.

My body moves faster than I can register, knowing well enough it is neither Sameira or Them. They left once the damage was dealt, fading away into the edges of my vision to relish in the fact that they'd succeeded. My eyes were dull and cautious coming upon the titan, settling on the blackness of a body so foreign yet familiar. My body cries out in anguish, knowing full well who this man was and what he had done. I sought to ruin him too. It was he who brought this upon me, who selfishly took me apart for his own benefit, who dare not contact me until now. I do not remember anything about our encounter at all, just that it is he who is responsible for the child.

I want to scream at him, to stomp my hooves and raise hell. I sought vengeance for my innocence, to reap him of something of equal value, to take and take and leave him there— I felt irrationally angry, seething with a clear rage I hadn't felt in a long time. "There is a someone, he smells like Zhu." He is here, Sameira. He is here. I can feel the contortion of her face, drawing back from the storm that brewed within me— smells like Zhu. She closes herself off again, becoming something distant and almost unnoticeable as I focus solely on the man before me.

That's what brought it, that unconscious recognition, the similarities between child and man— though faint and almost unrecognizable, the final piece was Sameira's lingering words, burned into the back of my mind. I don't know what I feel, don't know how to express it. "Take his eyes too," comes from somewhere to my left. My ear falls towards it, eyes still firmly set on the man in black as he growled out something about ruining whomever had done this. I did not flinch, even as his spit flew and his anger was so blatantly obvious— I would have submitted under normal circumstances, would have put my hands up and wept of my defeat. But I was livid, disgusted.

"You." It comes out almost like a hiss, a word caught up between clenched teeth and a tight throat. (I know what you've done, what you do) I want to break him, to bellow triumphantly as his bones contort beneath me and his body bends the way I want it to— no. I have to get it together, I have to stop. "Who ever said you needed to stop? Please, go on. Ruin him." Now I turn, watching them stand beside me, between the child and the father, licking their lips with an unnaturally long tongue. They could never be satisfied, always hungering for more, lusting after the prospect of new blood spilled at their hooves— they were relentless, eager to take what they could and give nothing back.

The name Nazli had sailed over my head, forgotten in my burning rage. It burns away, consumed by the flames of fury, discarded among the ashes of other tattered memories. I was too focused, too keen on knowing the truth. The words brew within me, barbaric and threatening as I linger over the child, teeth grinding together as she lies completely still, terrified of the consequences of movement. I cannot tell if I am mad at him completely, or if there is bitterness towards myself as well for being unable to be there when Sia needed me most— I had been drowning in self-loathing and crippling depression, had wallowed pitifully in the depths of my despair and let him take her.

I want so desperately to blow up in his face, to beat him senseless and wail at how unfair life was, at how shitty it was— how much I wish it wasn't this way. I stand with uncertainty and a tight gut, queasy as I wither, falling apart before him. It was he who had been there, who had helped her in a time of need— not me. I swallow harshly and face him with loose knees, forcing the words from my lips. "Thank you," I whisper, so quiet he may not even hear it. "You were there for her and I was just a mess, a pitiful god damn mess hating myself somewhere so far away— and there's no way for me to repay you, and now there's her." My eyes drift to the baby, voice fading away into something hushed, as if any louder and she may startle. Amber eyes solidify, a moment of bitterness returning because I have not forgot— no, I still remember very well what he's done. "But don't think I hate you any less for what you did to her. Stay away from her, because I swear to the gods if you touch her again— Zhu is the result of all you'll ever get from her." I wanted to spit in his face and snarl further, but backed off.

He probably thought I was crazy, speaking so vaguely of a common person (perhaps not a common person at all, maybe I've misunderstood), thanking him and threatening him for the treatment of said person. Of Sia. I did not deserve her, did not even have her— she was a star in an unfathomably large sky, and I just a fractured, weathered statue gaping at all the twinkling lights above me. I would never reach her.

"I- I don't know what got to her. I'm so stupid for leaving her... it was only a moment, I was only gone for a moment." I'm tripping over my words, trying to formulate something— anything. I didn't want to face the facts, didn't want to come to terms with the fact that I did know what got to her, that I could explain every excruciating detail. I wouldn't. "I'm so sorry." I don't know who I'm apologizing to, who this apology is meant for. I feel so defeated, so sluggish and distant that I'm not even sure I'm conscious right now, half expecting to wake up in a panic at the edge of the Throat. But this is no dream, and I won't wake up. Not anytime soon.