She breathed, as so the medics have told her, in through the nose and out toward the mouth, she continued to grimace. Motherhood was not an easy task as so Célnes assumed, a moment where she wouldn't admit to anyone but herself. The simple thought to go through the motions, the months to carry and simplicity of the birthing- all for the sake of her own desires. Yet a sacrifice was her own body and soul, and the realization of proper care had hit her some time ago, that she actually had felt some worry.
The contractions hit harder, she could feel one as her thoughts dwelved into a disarray of what ifs.
The Queen could feel the release of just but one, and when she looked, all but her fears had washed away to the sanctuary of holiness. Her head turning toward, a cleaning to the firstborn, a son! How wonderful he was, his fur matching directly into her own as she guided him to the teat of her fresh milk, and the love that strung from her cold heart. The favored, the beloved, the blessed.
Her first son, the firstborn, Warwick.
Praise be the High Elk, for there was more to come.
She couldn't help but throw her head back as it didn't stop. Any who saw Célnes knew she was not carrying but just a few, for size she held through the ends of her time was no small matter, almost as if she would seemingly end up in birthing just for moving. Swelled like a balloon, ungraceful with each step, and the struggle from carrying them. By hours of now she'd be done with all the rush, and finally claim of her own body once more..
But alas, she could not think more about the sanctuary that would be her own mind, for the next was coming. Her focus came and the clenching of teeth, the Queen scavenged for any loose bark that came and clenched hard with her teeth - show no weakness, even in childbirth. The feels of simply them coming forth was not pleasant, it felt dirty, but it had to be quick, because she had to know.. For the second born had arrived, graced with the love that was of a Déorwine, the first girl! Though hues may blurr away from her own, they were still blessed by He, and flushed with a love and kiss from Célnes, cleaning gently and tucking close - her first daughter, Edith.
But to be damned once more contracted, the pain that was and the endless suffering of providing for them.. Oh the terrors that would be, how many would she do? How many did that bastard give her? She couldn't help be internally curse at the man who provided, as well as the fear that held within her heart.. She couldn't forget his children, who bore nor love that the Deorwine culture adores.
Deep breath, she so reminded herself, for the third was to come. Blessed in rose-touched, like a girl born from the flower orchids of their royal woodland, she was Melrose. Already to see the beauty that came, but a true question where such esquisite tones came, but nontheless, she was blessed as the second-born daughter.. A quick kiss, a touch to the nose upon her head from the wetness that came to the newborn. A faint cry from one, but she did not which.
Though her attention to them was short, for Célnes the fourth had came! Yet the horrors washed upon her face, if any were to peer in, they could see the crossness that came when he had arrived. It was not that was a sinful one, nor' cursed like the hatred that they may take.. Oh no, a beautiful tone in browns that seemed almost orange, he held so much similarities to.. One, that it took her breathe away.
None may know the truth that occurred one night, a simple way where a cousin had gained some displeasure, and in the end had to be removed. Was this the retribution for that night? A son that bore exactly like him so- the High Elk almost seemingly giving him yet another chance. Oh her second-born son, Calhoun, so similar to her cousin that even then a name no other could be granted but that. A destiny he was given, and the name he shall take. Maybe in a way, it was small prayer of asking for forgiveness from him.
Yet the terror didn't go away, for the next that arrived swiftly upon the brothers cleanse was but another fear. The same issue of so many nights ago, a woman who was thorn to the side, and even dared challenged the Queen! A swift removal, so they thought.. It seemed she too, decided to haunt Célnes on this day, and through her very own blood. Rohesia, yet another daughter, who was so familiar to a cousin bathed in the red rose of a savage, a name pleasantly given, even to her child.. For retribution surely came.
She couldn't help but keep them far, her first three held closely while an alarmed look was given toward the two. She couldn't see them in any other way, the names granted was only to them, and them only. Yet, Célnes felt a motherly love toward them, for even if they looked like them, they were still hers. Maybe with such names she could erase the sins that she held-
but couldn't continue with her panic state. The next was coming, an endless feat that never seemed to truly leave. Only then, though, did the true terror set in.
Winced in pain, and winced in what she saw. How the newborn looked so much like the boogeyman, colors draped in an exact tone, and yet.. And yet! She could see the blemish, the curse, the sin! How could her next daughter be like so? Five successfully blessed in looks, albeit in a fearful karma that had settled within her life, but she was graced by the High Elk.
There was always that fear, fear for intertwining with a man of unknown origins! It was laughable, Célnes could hear the remarks that simply came with having such a child! Her previous thoughts of the two that clouded her own fate were now tucked closely, alongst with the other blessed of her kin. The next daugher, Maral, though brown that she may have, there was but markings of white!
The next was similar. If any had entered her den at this point, the Queen was snapping them out, an aggression had hit the now upset mother. One could hear her echoes of 'get out, get out!' by the travesty that was coming for this day, and her first-litter. Vermillion was perhaps worse then her hideous sister, for while she not only held white, but her mane and tail was coated in luxuries of gray. How she prays for days for them to be blessed, to be beloved by the High Elk!
Yet it seemed it was not - the only blessing she was given the abundancy of that was her litter. Was that the sacrifice? She would rather have only the current five then the.. Three that was coming. For her contractions were not done, and her wincing was now covered by the deformity of Célnes's twisted face. The crossing of a motherly love but the disgust that came on how she would bare birth to the cursed.
Perhaps it was given.. For the last son, the youngest of them all, Aldritch, was born neither white, nor' brown. Unlike all of his siblings he coated a completely Maltese gray pelt. She supposed in some way.. It was better then the two daughters who coated of white spots.
It was clear though, the favorites that were drawn. Her first three of a sanctuary, a beloved factor of how beautiful they were to be, and the love Célnes was wishing upon them as she licked in a cleanliness. Yet, she held the next two in the middle, like a barrier between the two, a somewhat cross to determine between them all. What a life, did the Queen given. Not only a litter of eight, yet it seemed two decided to haunt her, and the other three decided to taunt!
Her laughter could be heard from the den - as the contractions finally rested, and she held the litter. A sigh could only escape afterwards. Even if they were.. As they were, the thought always held at the back of Célnes's mind. She knew what had to be done; to warp them to a perfection, to prevent their future sins to occur!
Yes, she would mold them to her desires.. After all, that was the purpose of their birth.
date is officially on 8/02/2021!
i forwarded it dont @ me
got the permission
the staff team luvs u