I'm an invisible monster,
and I'm incapable of loving anybody.
You don't know which is worse.
Scyla had been getting larger at the barrel for some months now. She had become sluggish, still isolated from the majority of Tephra. Occasionally she had seen her saviors from afar, though their names escaped her. Warrick and Femur would perhaps never truly understand the gratitude the invisible monster had for her. Her wounds had healed, leaving pale pink scars upon her flesh. Honestly, the worst was that she still could not fly. The feathers that had been ripped from her tender flesh had not yet regrown. The appendages that now laid at angles from her sides from the growth of the child within.
If she was honest with herself, she still wasn't a hundred percent sure who the father was.
In her dreams, it was still Dahmer that plagued her. During the day, she tried her hardest to believe his alibi. She tried her hardest to finally completely forgive her brother. There were many nights she woke up in cold sweats, screaming at no one. Yet there was so much space between them as she progressed. She stayed in Tephra because she would not go back on her word, but she could not completely shake the feeling of when she looked at him, she felt the pressure on her back, the ripping of her flesh, the smell of blood running down her legs. Post-traumatic stress disorder at it's best.
She had decided that the child would be nurtured to the best of her ability. She hoped it would not come out black. Another reminder of the horrendous night that created it. Tonight she retreated back to the cave she had found. It smelled different than the Subway, but it brought the same comfort she found there as a child. It would be fitting that she would give birth to her first child in somewhere similar to the Subway.
The first contraction felt only as she had eaten something rotten and she was quick to ignore it. She ambled deeper into her cave, grunting as another contraction rippled through her body. It was only when wetness rushes on her hind legs that she realizes that's she's giving birth. The minutes passed and she laid on her side, the pain rippling through her--flashbacks of Dog-face. Of Desole. Of Dahmer. All colliding, erupting only to collide again in her twisted mind. With a scream, the child comes sliding out.
It's only then she realizes it's a girl.
It's only then that she realizes she sports a coat of gold. Even in the moonlight she can see the gilded coat splashed with white. The blue eyes staring so intently at her. She notices the girls right ear is missing, ill-formed but doesn't care. Instinct guides her, cleaning her, but the filly flails and tosses her head at the notion. She smiles, admiring the fighting spirit. A testament to her own mother's genes. She laughs as the filly squeals in frustration when she doesn't make it to her feet in one instance. Quickly she whickers to her, "Hush now my little Harrier. My little bully. Be patient." She nudges her, encouraging her. For once the thoughts of her parentage were gone from her head.
It's only when Scyla stands does Harrier make it to her feet, demanding to be fed that Scyla thinks of Dahmer. This time it was peaceful. There was no one of the colors of gold in either of their lines. She whispers to the child the story of their lines. "You were born of generals. Of Queens. Of Kings. You were destined for greatness my Harrier. There is strength of generations in your blood. There is so much to teach you." She grooms a last little bit of blood away from the rump of her golden girl, before a sound distracts her from her piece of heaven. Footsteps. Was the smell of blood now inviting predators? Her ears pin, and she tries to block Harrier from the entrance of the cave. "Who is there?"
