she dreams a champagne dream || spear, birthing

[Antonia]

Antonia

She dreams a champagne dream; strawberry surprise, pink linen and white paper.

  Her youth had long since given way to maturity - her once thin and bony limbs had become shapely and slender, with sinewy muscle enveloping over strong, fortified bone. Her hips, once bare with little else but jutting hipbones to shape them, had a feminine flare, stemming from a deep slope in her spine leading up to her thick, muscular neck. Long, pale tresses hang over her nape, draping in the way of her dark, wide eyes - golden flecks alight with a mischief that would never fade, not even with time.

   Yet, it is not merely her bone structure that has changed - no, not even the lining of muscle or thick, heavily defined curves that had inevitably come from her genetics were the most noticeable change that time had wrought. Tucked away beneath the envelopment of her rib cage and nestled within the heavy swell of her barrel lay two, entangled with one another, their long and gangling limbs pressing uncomfortably against her side and stirring a groan of discomfort as her soft, but breathy voice broke the dense silence of the too-quiet, too-still grassland. 

   A sharp, thrust of agony stirs a ragged cry of wretched anguish - she is breathless, on unsteady legs, as the gentle tranquility of morning is shattered by the pang of pain and the gasping rigidity of uncertainty and fright settling into the tender marrow of her bones. She is stark, a muted blackness against the soft and subtle golden tendrils of vegetation lapping delicately along her skin, and she is exposed - a thought that is suddenly unbearable.

   She does not waste another moment lingering amid the steam rising from roiling pits of water, nor does she seek the deep, bubbling warmth of the familiar rivulets of lava. There is a tempest stirring within her - an instinct she had never known she possessed, unburied by each contraction rippling through the length of her body, and she is eager and unrelenting in her search for the sea along the distant, fading horizon. 

   It is not long until she has found the solace of a dark and cleverly hidden cavern along the sea, where she is soon writhing with soft, huffing gasps - her body convulsing with each heaving push, aching to dispel the content of her womb. One, a rich russet and two, a deep, impenetrable blackness, both with a speckling of white, and each carefully encased in individual, unbroken sacs, which soon her teeth tear away at, her pounding, prideful heart bursting with a glee she could never have thought possible.

   Gently, she presses each sac away from their dampened skin, drying each with determined vigor, her tongue cleansing them of the remnants of their birth. 

   She is weary and tired, but adrenaline courses through her veins, stirring a giddiness from deep within, drawing a mirthful smile as her own dark eyes meet with each of theirs - so perfect, so flawlessly carved from the gentle, but urgent tryst amid the thundering sky and falling rain so many months ago. She is quiet, urging each to rise, shakily and wobbling on each lean, scrawny limb, soothed only by her soft murmuring of encouragement. 

   Spear cannot be far, she knows as much - he is watchful, not unlike his father, and more observant than most. With a low, crooning call, she beckons him forth, to meet the son and daughter that were as much a part of his soul as they were of her own.

Lavender and cream, fields of butterflies, reality escapes her.
She says that love is for fools who fall behind.

@[Spear + Spark]