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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    Damn you love || Birthing, Any
    #1

    Astarael
    herald of death


    Darkness had pervaded her conciousness as sleep kept hold of her. Secluded and alone in the darkest part of the forest, her eyes were closed against stray fingers of moonlight that filtered through the trees. She almost appeared peaceful and unthreatening as her red aura blanketed her protectively. Nestled in a bed of grass the child within her writhed restlessly, moving her stomach visibly. Her midsection clenched and contorted angrily, contracting with an uncanny viciousness. Lost within her dreamscape, flashes of pain invaded her serenity. Jolted awake the queen jumped to her feet - momentary confusion plain upon her features. Her sides heaved with every breath as her emerald gaze pulled the world surrounding her into focus. The leaves above remained remaniscent of the fall despite the cloak of midnight. Even so, spring was heavy upon the breeze - and her child demanded to be acknowledged.

    Nothing more than a byproduct of her political ambition, his continued existence relied upon his ability to embrace the darkness of their kingdom. She was eager to lay her eyes upon the creature that had resided within her for so long. Another contraction tightened her belly and she clenched her teeth against the pain. The child pressed urgently upon her, his arrival imminent. The urge to push was nearly overwhelming and she submitted to the instinctual tide of motherhood. Time seemed to halt as she lost herself to the breathless wonder of agony. Like the changing of the seasons she felt her body shift and pull until, after one final heave, it was all over. Partnered by the sudden relief and soft thud of his freshly born body she trembled from the aftershocks of her exertion. It was over. Weakened by the events that had transpired she turned to gaze upon the lump that was the new prince of darkness.

    Almost seeming lifeless, he lay helplessly in a crumpled heap. His immediate fragility struck the first time mother and revulsion accosted her. She had seen many a newborn, but the urge to see them neatly dispatched had never been as strong as it was in that moment. Abstaining, she dutifully set herself to clearing his nostrils and body of the sticky afterbirth.

    He was a pathetically tiny creature, his bones jagged beneath thin skin. Pliable beneath the rough touch of her cleaning she would have believed him dead hahard it not been for the warmth of his flesh. Slowly she began to notice a start to his movement and he squirmed away from her. She watched with detached curiosity as his darkened lids fluttered open to reveal a pair of striking red and onyx eyes. They peered up at her with an indignant that mirrored her own. Amused, a chuckle fell past her hard pressed lips and his head lifted to study her further. Stepping away, Astarael noted him as a surviving piece belonging to the recently deceased Mortem. She wondered if he would be proud of his progeny.

    Darling, you have no idea what's possible...


    @[Abnormal]
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    #2
    He is skin stretched across bones, a tired, aching soul who whines helplessly as he is dropped to the cool forest floor. Sylva’s endless autumn envelopes him in hues of crimson, flaxen, and tangerine. He is born, swirling red and black eyes opening to take in the world around him...around them?

    The Demoness is beautiful, clearly, he isn’t too young to see this. Bloody russet skin covers her filled-out bodice, glowing emerald eyes staring at him in displeasure. She licks him roughly, tongue cleaning off the fluids upon him in a more instinctual way than an actual loving way. 

    He mirrors her, indifferent towards the woman who he assumes is his mother, but curious nonetheless. His forked tongue escapes through his teeth as he licks the soft parts of her legs, brow bone wiggling at the feeling. The world is curious, and he has many questions for his mother...where were they? Where was his father? 

    But more importantly, who was he?

    @[Astarael]
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    #3

    Astarael
    Demoness of Sylva


    The night almost appears to hold its breath as agony turns to a sudden quiet. Dark red embers of light lurk around the colt, sniffing and swirling as if unsure if the tiny frail creature were friend or foe. Unsure herself, Astarael's nose scrunched at the scent of him - he was warm and damp and too small. A mark of his site. Lying prone upon the leaf littered ground the mare pulled her legs back underneath her and sprung upright. Dirt and dried twigs clung to her mane and she shook them free, watching as they fell to the ground. Looming above him she was startled once again by his frailty. She was relieved to see the colt's nose bare of the ghastly red bulb that had deformed his father's. A soft flickering, instead, caught her attention as his tongue tickled the curves of her ankles. Her eyes narrowed upon him, her ears turned forward.

    How...abnormal. The word fell from her lips with an uncommon ease, her mouth liking the taste of it. He blinked up at her, almost expectantly and she quickly realized that he needed a name.

    During the whole of her time carrying him within her, she hadnt considered the reality that she would have to call him something. Her head tilted thoughtfully as her emerald gaze caught the nearly black of his own. Outwardly he appeared almost normal, but she knew that looks were often recieving. Only time would tell the gifts he held hidden within.

    Come now, Abnormal. She bade, his name coming to her almost naturally. It is time for you to stand now, boy.

    Although of her own blood she would not tolerate weakness. He was to be an example to all - darkness in its truest form. A Sylvan through and through.

    Darling, you have no idea what's possible...

    @[Abnormal]
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