where there once was love [mast, any - birthing]

[Camelia]

Camelia is as prepared as she can be. The location for her labor is situated and known (a peaceful little corner secluded from the rest of the Gates, layered with soft fronds to cushion the process), she’s eaten all the herbs she can think of to help along her pregnancy and aftermath of delivery (herbs and plants she remembers from her mother’s teachings), and she’s found herself daydreaming the hours away (dreams about her daughter, dreams about what she might look like, dreams about Mast’s reaction).

Her belly is as swollen as Camelia believes it has ever been. Every twitch her daughter makes presses against the interior of her womb. There is little room for movement and it only proves that the day of delivery is steadily approaching. Uncomfortable pressure accompanies the dunskin’s steps and she finds herself resorting to lingering near her birthing place more frequently. Although any other time Camelia would be sticking close to Mast (perhaps to make sure he doesn’t do something irrational, perhaps to comfort him in distress, perhaps to enjoy his company after a few years away), she finds moving around exceptionally awkward and lumbering.

It is in the early hours of dawn that she feels the first stirrings of labor. The feeling is a sharp twist of her stomach, a rippling effect of muscles flexing, and an instinctual urge to find somewhere safe. Throughout the night Camelia battled with the ghost instincts of seeking out a protected location, reassuring herself that she is fine. When the first dramatic contraction begins, however, she finds herself quickly swinging toward her little corner. At first, the painful tightening is slow, with waves of safe relief between each pulse, but they grow stronger and closer together as she reaches the location.

It is as the first true light of dawn breaks over the horizon that Camelia begins pushing. The birthing process is quick and easy, and the dunskin finds she is moving through the process with much less anxiety compared to her first child. Her heart’s joy lessens slightly at the thought that Finner isn’t here to welcome his baby sister into the family, but she forces herself back into happiness. The girl is a pretty thing (at least in Camelia’s eyes; who knows about anyone else) and she finds herself marveling at her beauty as she cleans her.

Once she is satisfied the girl is breathing fine and isn’t shivering from the waning nighttime chill, Camelia raises her head to beckon Mast. She figures he isn’t too far away, but nonetheless she calls for him and then anyone else who wished to welcome the Gates’ newest princess.

[Topsail]

For nearly a year, the lullaby to which she’d fallen asleep had been the gentle whoosh of her mama’s beating heart. She had floated along in her mama’s tummy, swaying this way and that to her dam’s footfalls. Those were the first things she remembered clearly. The next was mama’s voice- sweet like honeysuckle and lilac. Then papa’s voice- his was strong, but smooth. His voice made her feel safe, though she couldn’t put a face to their voices. She had no real conception of faces or colors or anything of the sort, but she knew that her sire and dam must be beautiful. Then lastly she remembered finding her own voice. Her voice was projected in thoughts, from the corners of her mind. She often spoke to her mama, though her words were just the ramblings of a child who knew nothing of the outside world. She spoke of love though, because her mama had explained love. Mama had said she was born from love, and that love would always be a constant in her life no matter what.

Being born was a strange event. She knew something had to happen though, for she’d quite outgrown her mama’s womb. Already she longed to stretch her legs and see how far they would carry her. So when the contractions had started she had welcomed the strange squeezing feeling. It was something innate, something bred into her for generations and generations. First one foot, and then the other. Her shoulders presented a problem, and had she had a voice she would have voiced her displeasure. But they passed quickly enough, and soon her world was cold and foreign. She felt bewildered and anxiously sought out her dam, relaxing some as her nose bumped into the golden flesh of mama. Topsail had been right, mama was beautiful. A gray stallion stood off to the side, and the filly knew this must be her father. Mast, that’s what mama had called him. He was sleek and handsome, with finely carved features as if he were cut from smooth marble. Small mewls and squeaks slipped from her mouth, though no words were to be heard. She had no words. Her voice was in her head, and only there. Shakily she smiled at the two. “Hi mama, hi father.” she thought, watching their faces carefully to see if her voice came through as she had intended. She knew without a doubt mama could hear her, for they had so often spoke while Topsail was growing inside her. But she had never spoken to anyone else, so she was excited to see Mast’s mouth open in a wide grin. He had heard her! “Hi baby. Topsail.” said the gray stallion, his eyes sweeping over his mousy colored daughter. She was perfect, from the tip of her tiny ears to the bottom of her bottle brush tail. Finally, he turned his eyes to Camelia, and nothing but love shown in their depths. “You did wonderfully, darling…she is perfectly perfect. I love you.” he whispered, burying his nose into the crook of her neck. These two were a bright spot in his other wise currently dark world, and he would let their light shine.


ooc - sorry if this is confusing, i just did a joint post

[Camelia]

the ghost of a girl that i want to be most
the shell of a girl i used to know well

Her heart is full with pride. This feeling (the warmth of life, the rosy glow of family, the overflowing happiness rising in her chest) cannot be described any other way. Camelia’s eyes twinkle, hearing her daughter’s voice now paired with a face. She is a mousy girl, a gently-tossed together combination of her parents, and Camelia’s smile grows even bigger.

Mast is there and Camelia’s eyes turn to look at him. Their daughter speaks, then, and her heart swells even more. Although she can hear the words (although she has always heard the words) she wonders, for a brief moment, if the words are heard by Mast as well. Perhaps the faeries have tricked their daughter somehow to only allow conversation with the mother of the family. Given the fact that Topsail’s mouth works vigorously to form words, nothing aside from rough mews and newborn squeaks get past.

Camelia knows, with a soft thought, that her daughter will only ever be able to communicate with her mind. But the thought’s blow is lessened by the way Mast’s face breaks into a great wide smile. It is something to crack the stony, serious line of his mouth that had lately taken over. With the Chamber pressing on the Gates – and the Gates dashing around looking for alliances, her lover had turned into a pillar of worry and thought, combating with the hidden childlike behavior and ever-so gentle heart she knows is inside. But their daughter, this new life, is a light in the darkness.

Mast’s encouragement sends a tired smile to Camelia’s lips. She can feel the remaining exhausted tendrils of labor burrowing into her bones, and the sudden urge to sleep for days rolls over her. But she knows she must stay awake – for Mast and for Topsail. The gray king’s touch comforts her, as it always has, and she turns her attention back to their daughter. The strong connection of friendship between a mother and a daughter is already strong. “Topsail, would you like to try and stand?” She says the words aloud, for both of her family’s ears, with another bright smile on her golden face.

camelia