06-01-2016, 11:39 PM
inside, your heart is black, and it's hollow, and it's cold.
I am one. I am undeniably complete; a mark of irrefutable perfection - yet I am thrust forth, bathed in the blood, mucus and tissue of a womb too suffocating to thrive within, too warm and soluble to want to leave behind.
His limbs are gangly, slick with the remnants of thick afterbirth, laying upon the warm, heavy sac of placental support that rests beneath his flank. He is drenched in her fluids, yet beneath it he is a beautiful sheen of grey. The moist soil blends with his dun undertones and matting his dark mane, which remains glued to his taut, slender neck. His eyes peer up, dark and impenetrable, as he looks into the gaze of his mother who stares so adoringly upon him. She whispers his name, yet he already knows it.
She is unadulterated beauty, perhaps more so because she is altogether like me - yet I have something more. Dense with liquid and mucus from the warmth of her womb, my wings lay heavily across my spine, and gently I flex them - they are far from the devastating beauty I had envisioned, but such would come in time. Though she cannot see within my mind, I can see within hers - not with my own control, but at her own leisure. She has willed me to see my father, my sperm giver, and he is glorious in and of himself. It is because of these filtered images she has offered to me that I recognize what lay across my spine; what their capabilities are.
She croons to him, her voice soft and melodious (her voice penetrates his mind, but only at his will - he longs to hear her, though she cannot hear him) and with defiance, he begins to rise. His legs are shaky, uncertain - she bathes him deliberately, carefully and soon the evening air no longer bristles across his murky pelt. His feathers begin to flex across their delicate bones and his mane now lay dry across his neck and forehead. He nestles against her, a boy of remarkable ability and promise, a child of darkness - affectionate in the way he presses his cheek to her shoulder; reprehensible in the way that he wonders what her flesh might taste like beneath his teeth.
She is mine. She is my mother, my guardian, my keeper - and I am her prodigy. I am her Underwood.
Underwood
sociopathic son of topsail and eight.