This thread is tagged mature for

attempted child murder

. Please take care of yourself!

Backdated to April 1st.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Pisces' waterfall is a roar in one's ears, all-consuming. The shining pyrite placed on the edge of its pool grows in cubes, shining and slick from wetness. Still, if one focuses, they can hear the subtle sound of droplets flung, landing far from their original stream. Drip, drip.

He does not breathe, exactly. Does he even live, inside the glistening shell of his chrysalis? He certainly is not conscious of it; the little lamb tucked all up in his womb, sharp hooves pressed into crystal. He sleeps, dreamless. Peaceful, blissful, ignorant.

He shifts. Something shifts with it; shatters, breaks. He does not know this part. He only knows the part after: the part where he is suddenly awake, hooves scrabbling on slick stone, almost threatening to fall into the pool with a silent bleat.

The little one scrambles back from the edge, eyes wide: the first thing he knows is tumbling water. The waterfall is so immense and so unnamably larger than him that it's all he can do to stare, uncomprehending. His ears pin back, flick-flick, at the sound.

The second thing he knows is cold. His fur is damp and slick to the skin with a mix of birthing-fluid and a steadily growing amount of water; he shivers, stumbling away from the 'fall with a quiet, unhappy bleat. His head lifts high and his little nose begins to sniff, sniff—looking for someone that should be with him at his hatching, because he knows deep down in his soul that he shouldn't be alone right now.

He wants to find his mother. Where is she?

@Mossie

Mossie had spent nearly a cycle waiting.

She'd stumbled around, a shell of herself, knowing what was to come, seeing it barreling towards her and yet helpless to move out of the way. She does not know whether she should look forwards to the day she can finally claim Purpose with glee, or flee with her tail tucked between her legs at the enormity of what she must do.

She can't change her mind, not now. What would she do, just leave her son adrift and abandoned, purposeless and good for nothing just like her?

No.

It was...a mercy, really. She was being merciful. He'd thank her, if he understood.

And so what if her paws had taken her to Pisces without her knowledge more often than not? So what if she'd watched the growing chrysalis for a length of time probably reasonable for a mother who wasn't plotting infanticide? So what if some nights when red eyes making impossible demands plagued her dreams she'd go to sleep curled around him, keeping vigil for predators long after she woke?

So fucking what.

As the day of reckoning approached, Mossie hadn't gone near Pisces. There were things to do, rocks to search for, people to badger into joining her maybe-cult. You know how it is.

But she knows she needs to show up sometime, otherwise the poor bastard's gonna find himself eaten by a predator as soon as he hatches.

...Which wasn't so far off from what Mossie was planning.

Fuck.

Eventually, though, Mossie feels an unfamiliar urge that has her drawn to Pisces once more. Her gait is quick and urgent, and its only the knowledge that her stamina is dogshit that keeps her from breaking into a run.

But when she shows up, finding a shattered chrysalis and a small wet Very Alone child, something in her chest twists uncomfortably.

She missed his hatching.

Mossie rushes forth at once, grabbing her son--so small, so fragile, so breakable--and for a moment as she holds him the urge to purr and comfort him and lick the fluid from his fur clashes with the desire to snap his neck in her teeth and feel his life stilling beneath her jaws.

She does neither.


"Hello, little one," she says. "I'm your mother, and you're..." a name comes to mind. Not like she was thinking about names or anything, obviously. "Isaac. Isaac ii."

@Isaac II

His ears are not sharp enough nor his reflexes fast enough before the lamb is caught by the scruff. His quiet bleat echoes out into the cave, only halfway muffled by the waterfall, little legs kicking at the air for purchase.

He does not find purchase. He does, however, find his mother's eyes, head tilting up, up until he can see her.

She smells like him. This is enough to calm his beating heart, to still his movements until he is merely dangling like a stringless puppet in her hold.

Mother smells warm, and soft, and a little like rot—not that he knows what rot is, knows nothing about the magic they both share. To him, that is simply mother. It's a good smell. It's a home-love-warm-safe smell, and he listens to her voice with rapt ears.

Isaac's voice is so soft it threatens to be swallowed up by the waterfall. "Maaa..." His goat's bleat gives the sound a vibrato, almost like a purr. "Ma-ma."

@Mossie

Mossie abruptly drops Isaac II on his little head because what the fuck.

What The Fuck.

Is this kid trying to make her too attached to kill him? Rude as hell of him, to be honest. Why couldn't he just lay down and die already? That would be the polite thing to do.

Why couldn't he get run over by a Woolly Deer or drown in the waterfall or something, anything, to spare her from the burden of this wretched task?

She thinks of Tsetse, and the conviction that shone through as she spoke of the purpose Farina had blessed her with. She thinks of the Collector, telling her of the Shadow and the knowledge it carried. She thinks of all the suffering she'd bore to bring Isaac into the world, and how it'll all be for naught if she can't finish this.

...Not right now, though.

She scoops him back up by the scruff.

"Sorry, little one," she mumbled. "You startled me."

@Isaac II

Thump. The dull sound of Isaac's head hitting the rock, punctuated by a small, bleating cry. It hurts. It hurts a lot, especially for a little kid who has never been hurt before. It makes tears well up in the pools of his small, dark eyes, threatening to spill over.

But then mother is picking him up again, and her voice is soft as ever, and she doesn't sound very worried about this, or the pain. She says sorry. He is too young to know how to hold a grudge, especially against mama, who he loves very much; but the sound is nice, and he sways a little in her hold and blinks the tears away.

It's fine. Everything is okay, even though his head still hurts a little.

"Mama," he says in that feather-down voice of his, and then his legs are kicking at the air again. Not because he's scared, or because he wants to be put down; just that she is warm, and soft, and he wants to be closer to her now. He cranes his head and stretches his neck towards her as if maybe he could reach, if only he tried hard enough.

@Mossie

The staccato thud of Mossie's heart in her chest is deafening, drowning out the waterfall and Isaac's helpless little bleats entirely. Her legs shake, and she feels if she remains standing for just a moment longer she'll jump in the water and never come out.

She collapses onto the hard stone, dragging Isaac's limp, fragile form between her forelegs and licking the top of his head with a shaky purr.

This is a bad idea.

But she can't just not after creating an entire child. She needs Purpose. She must be Great.

Maybe there's another way.

Fuck.

If.

If she goes through with this, she wants his last moments to be soft, comforting. Gentle. Because as much as the Chaos simmering in her blood burns for his pained screams, he doesn't deserve a violent death. Only warmth and love.

Inhaling, she attempts to breathe out relaxing spores--not enough to put him to sleep, but enough to calm him enough he doesn't realize what's to come.

She breathes a sigh of relief as she sees him droop.

@Isaac II

In the cradle of his mother's body, Isaac finds peace.

It breathes, soft and shallow, butting its head up against his mother's chest as she grooms it. Little hooves skritch against the stone floor as it stretches, tilting its head back, up and up until it sees the dark sky of its mother's eyes once more.

It blinks at her, tired. It has been a long first day, and it is very sleepy, now. It is so easy to be lulled by her; by her warmth, by her smell, by the sensation of being close, comfortable, loved.

He is loved. This is undeniable.

It is sleepy, too. So sleepy. With a content sigh, it tucks himself up; back legs under the body, front legs stretching straight until they are laid over one of its mother's own. At this angle, its stone is almost swallowed up by his chest fur; but a glimmer of it remains, gold against all the white and grey of the world.

It settles its head on its legs and looks her in the eyes. No thoughts, not really; nothing to say, either. Just looking up at her and acknowledging that she is there, close, warm. Safe.

@Mossie

Isaac is soft and sleepy. He leans against her and looks up at her and rests between her forelegs because in his mind, he is safe with her.

He is so, so wrong.

Her chest twists with something raw and ugly, her claws flexing and unflexing on the same cursed stone floor she damned herself on. If she looks over to the northside she can see the same herd of Wooly Deer that condemned her to this perdition, ambling about aimlessly.

It doesn't have to be like this, a traitorous, slithery, Weak part of her mind reminds her. There's still time to turn back. You could still raise him.

Mossie allows herself to imagine, for just a moment, a Perfect Day.

She and Isaac lounging by the waterfall, the spray misting their pelts, sharing a haunch of Wooly Deer. Isaac showing off his first spell, the two of them growing fungal gardens together. There are no worries, no grand purposes, no red-eyed tempters. Just mother and son on a perfectly ordinary day.

But, of course, it's too good to be true.

Mossie dips her head, licking a remainder of the chrysalis-fluid from his neck. The Chaos beneath her skin rears its ugly head, and suddenly she's drooling...

She lunges, trying to snap his neck in her teeth.

@Isaac II

And stops dead, an inch before her teeth meet flesh.

She can't do this, she can't fucking do this she can't.

She can't undo this.

"No," she rasps, stumbling as she gets to her paws. "No, no, I--"

She turns and runs.

It just all happens so fast.

For a moment, he lingers in that state between consciousness and unconsciousness; on the brink of sleeping, on the brink of waking. He knows nothing but the fact that he is warm, and the waterfall's sound somewhere distant is so sweet and soft; that his mother's breathing is in his ear, and that her scent is surrounding him.

He is so close to knowing nothing at all. For a moment—death's jaws at his neck, and all he registers is the warmth of his mother's breath on his fur.

A jolt. He goes toppling as his mother's leg lifts sharply from under him; rolling, soft fur cushioning the blow but not enough to prevent another bruise on his little head, another sharp bleating sound quickly swallowed by the waterfall.

His hooves scrabble on the slick stone. Sleepiness dulls his reflexes, weakens his body; all his mind is is cloudy confusion, worry, a steadily growing sense of fear. "Mama!"

He finds purchase, hauling himself to his hooves. Already, the cold is seeping in again. Already, his little body is beginning to tremble. "Mama?! Mama!" She was saying something. He doesn't understand.

Dark eyes go wide as he looks around, all sleepiness gone, replaced by anxiety. Where is she? Where is her voice? He can only smell her a little, now; the dry spot where she was lying on the stone floor, already being spattered once more by wetness.

He inhales as much as he can, little chest puffing out with the effort.

"Mama!"

Nobody answers.

@Mossie

;;exit Isaac