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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    [private]  in the darkness, I will meet my creators; birthing
    #1

    I'm wasted, losing time; I'm a foolish, fragile spine
    I want all that is not mine; I want him but we're not right

    She does not want to fight the lies.

    She does not want them to be lies.

    He tells her that she is beautiful, and he holds her, and it is so much more than she could have ever hoped for. He presses love into her flesh and she is so drunk off the promise of it that she could never hope to turn it away. She could never dream of not claiming it as her own—as dragging it into her very bones.

    He calls her Charity.

    So she becomes Charity.

    She sees her brother and even his protests, as deeply and thoroughly and wrongly as she loves him, are not enough to change her mind. She swells with child and fills her days with the joy of knowing that she will be able to have her own family. She will have children of her own and be able to share the world.

    She does not stop to think about how difficult childbirth will be for her.

    She does not stop to think that there is anything but beauty about this moment.

    So she does not feel the fear until the bands of pressure tighten around her belly. She feels the way that her skin wants to tear as she lowers to the ground. The way that her bones creak and protest.

    The hours pass in a blur.

    She feels her body chip. She feels the blood. She becomes nearly dazed with it when the first child slips from her and the pressure does not subside and then a second child slips from her.

    When she rises, weak and shaking, there are tears on her papery cheeks.

    The girl is black as herself with white wings pressed to her sides. She is, like Jarris has said of their first, just like him. She is flesh and blood and beautiful for it. Brimming with life already.

    But the second is like Contagion.

    Red as sunrise and carved from glass.

    Eternally destined for tragedy.

    And Adaline weeps.

    in the darkness, I will meet my creators
    and they will all agree that I'm a suffocator

    Adaline
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