Effluvium arrives at the tail end of the hatching. When all the children are freed from their chrysalis. It sees the shards. It sees the children. But Effluvium doesn't see them. All it sees food. Small shapes, filled with blood and nutrients. Easy to overpower and eat. It does not see the resemblance they share.

Terror's elated squeaks of 'mama' nothing more than the sound of a newborn lesser left alone. And like a true scavenger, it goes for the weakest one it can see. Karambit's flopping and screeching drew its attention the most. It was reminiscent of a lesser in pain. The easiest to take down. Effluvium stepped forward. Silent. This was the first sign something was wrong. It ignored Terror. Not even an eye on them. A predator on the hunt, Effluvium creeps toward Karambit.

There was no doubt the children's view of their parent would metamorphose into something dark, and unfit for the role of a parent. Without warning, once it was close enough to Karambit, its jaws would spread. Then, it would attempt to snap them shut on one of its' limbs. Not with the force of a curious predator investigating, but an attempt to remove a limb for itself.


"When I speak."

When I think.

Mother steps past them, all towering body and slimy gait, something red left in its trail. Mother steps past the newborn, and it quickly turns in an attempt to adjust its path back towards it, still calling all the while, deformed mouths and vocal chords calling with a chorusing voice: "Mama! Mama!"

There is silence. No response, no voice that comes from the creature of flesh and blood—it tries, at length, to make contact with their mother, attempting to bump against one of their many legs, tentacles twisting away from their collar formation with a squirming tip, trying to make purchase. The creature, the newborn, seeks physical contact; seeks love, as childish instinct dictates.

It is left with nothing but air, as their mother walks with a bloody purpose.

They stumble to a stop, canine haunches tilting back as they sit back on the sand, a whine threatening to split their voice. Why is mother ignoring them? Why is mother not giving them love? It wants love...

...it does not get love. It does not get pain, either, but that is not an upside; visceral maws so much bigger than its own, sloughing and piled atop each other like dough, open and snap shut.

Its first lesson in life is blood. Coppery and strong; it fills the air like the screeching that comes from its sibling. Something crunches between rows of teeth—horror dictates the newborn as it gets a front-row view of what it looks like when a limb is crushed like being caught in a rockslide.

Is it betrayal that it feels? Hurt? Maybe later on, when it has a chance to process these emotions (if it has a chance to process these emotions); in the moment, all it knows is a sense of steady wrongness, boiling over into protectiveness.

This is wrong. It shouldn't be like this; this is not what its waking moments should be.

It expresses this in a surprisingly childlike reaction—it jolts up from its sitting position, claws scrabbling on the stone, as with a gurgling yip and a snarl it decides it needs to set things right.

It bares all the teeth set within its jaws as it runs up to what was supposed to be its mother (what is not its mother) and attempts to gain purchase on flesh.