09-06-2016, 11:27 PM
** WARNING: birth & stillbirth below
loving you isn't the right thing to do; how can I ever change things that I feel?
Agony spreads across her as if it were a flame to kerosene, igniting every untouched nerve and leaving her raw and trembling. The sheer uncertainty of the unknown caused her to tremble, though the immense pride that still bubbled mirthlessly beneath the surface causes her to clench her jaw in determined resolve. A shuddering sigh emerges from her parted whiskered lips as the endlessly painful contraction engulfs her in anguish, though she attempts to muffle it by hardening the lines of her mouth, sealing it from an untimely, humiliating escape. Her cheek rests against the steady pillar of his hind leg, and her heavy lashes close over her hazel eyes, which grimace momentarily when the chains of control are too much for her to grasp onto.
Labor had begun long ago, though she had tirelessly attempted to drown out the shockwaves of rippling, harrowing pain. She had pushed herself too far, urged herself to the very edges of a darkening, twilight-painted Earth and now the trembling pain that has surged up through her sinewy muscles, pulsating once more. She knows that it is time, and terror seizes her heart. The unknown lay before her, and she lay helpless among too many to feel at ease, her doe eyes gaze out towards an unscathed thicket not far away longingly. She aches for the sky, for the sea and lands unknown, but for now she sweats and cries for the child bursting forth from her womb. Soon, the caress of moonlight gives way to the warmth of dawn and a sheen of yellow and periwinkle flood the wavering stalks of greener, and with it comes the birth of new life.
He lay still with wide, blinking eyes - brilliant and curious, his body bathed in the very sac that had kept him so safely tucked within her womb with fragile, dampened wings of alabaster glued tightly to his rigid spine. With sweat heavy upon her brow ridge, she presses her whiskered lips to his damp skin, ridding him of the dreaded afterbirth. She has done little else but to tear it away from his pale, gilded pelt when another shuddering aftershock of anguish ripples over her. She cannot do anything but to gasp, for though the urge to cleanse him to and to draw him near is strong, the urge to press again is too much to resist. Soon after, a second emerges from her tired womb, a too-still figure with a too-quiet heartbeat.
Exhausted and spent, she cranes her tired, aching neck to reach each. Her winged son, a bleating ray of sunshine in her otherwise dreary life, stirs and struggles against the moist soil beneath him, but beside him, her daughter remains lifeless. Dread begins to pump steadily along the flow of adrenaline that moves with ease through her pulsating veins, and her heart soon pounds against her chest. Gently, she presses her muzzle to her own, tearing away the sac that had failed to rupture, frantic in her attempts to stir and stimulate her lifeless child - but to no avail.
Soon, an anguish more excruciating than any she had ever felt washes away the pain of previous moments with the rising tide of emotion that floods her weary mind. Though she is reluctant, she forces her depleted, worn body to rise and for her shaking legs to still. With gentle urging on her own behalf, her trembling son rises, and breathlessly, she draws him near to her, preening the delicate feathers that remain damp and plastered to his delicate wings.
Her eyes fall soon to her lifeless daughter beside him, a beautiful, too-perfectly mirrored image of her father, Magnus, and Ellyse's heart clenches as sorrow befalls her, tearing what is left of her soul into shreds, littering the untouched soil with the remnants of her still-beating heart. A gentle sob emerges from her throat before she can stifle it, but she buries her tear-stained cheeks into the thick, unruly tresses of the warrior beside her as she leans on him for strength, shame and grief engulfing her as her only living progeny suckles eagerly from her teat.
"I am so sorry," She manages breathlessly, her breath warm against his neck as she weeps.
Labor had begun long ago, though she had tirelessly attempted to drown out the shockwaves of rippling, harrowing pain. She had pushed herself too far, urged herself to the very edges of a darkening, twilight-painted Earth and now the trembling pain that has surged up through her sinewy muscles, pulsating once more. She knows that it is time, and terror seizes her heart. The unknown lay before her, and she lay helpless among too many to feel at ease, her doe eyes gaze out towards an unscathed thicket not far away longingly. She aches for the sky, for the sea and lands unknown, but for now she sweats and cries for the child bursting forth from her womb. Soon, the caress of moonlight gives way to the warmth of dawn and a sheen of yellow and periwinkle flood the wavering stalks of greener, and with it comes the birth of new life.
He lay still with wide, blinking eyes - brilliant and curious, his body bathed in the very sac that had kept him so safely tucked within her womb with fragile, dampened wings of alabaster glued tightly to his rigid spine. With sweat heavy upon her brow ridge, she presses her whiskered lips to his damp skin, ridding him of the dreaded afterbirth. She has done little else but to tear it away from his pale, gilded pelt when another shuddering aftershock of anguish ripples over her. She cannot do anything but to gasp, for though the urge to cleanse him to and to draw him near is strong, the urge to press again is too much to resist. Soon after, a second emerges from her tired womb, a too-still figure with a too-quiet heartbeat.
Exhausted and spent, she cranes her tired, aching neck to reach each. Her winged son, a bleating ray of sunshine in her otherwise dreary life, stirs and struggles against the moist soil beneath him, but beside him, her daughter remains lifeless. Dread begins to pump steadily along the flow of adrenaline that moves with ease through her pulsating veins, and her heart soon pounds against her chest. Gently, she presses her muzzle to her own, tearing away the sac that had failed to rupture, frantic in her attempts to stir and stimulate her lifeless child - but to no avail.
Soon, an anguish more excruciating than any she had ever felt washes away the pain of previous moments with the rising tide of emotion that floods her weary mind. Though she is reluctant, she forces her depleted, worn body to rise and for her shaking legs to still. With gentle urging on her own behalf, her trembling son rises, and breathlessly, she draws him near to her, preening the delicate feathers that remain damp and plastered to his delicate wings.
Her eyes fall soon to her lifeless daughter beside him, a beautiful, too-perfectly mirrored image of her father, Magnus, and Ellyse's heart clenches as sorrow befalls her, tearing what is left of her soul into shreds, littering the untouched soil with the remnants of her still-beating heart. A gentle sob emerges from her throat before she can stifle it, but she buries her tear-stained cheeks into the thick, unruly tresses of the warrior beside her as she leans on him for strength, shame and grief engulfing her as her only living progeny suckles eagerly from her teat.
"I am so sorry," She manages breathlessly, her breath warm against his neck as she weeps.
Ellyse