Blackfeather Woods out of sight

The youth moved toward the scent of blood, knowing who it belonged to the instant it was spilled. Excitement coursed through her as she moved to her side, eyes flashing. Atropos, too, read the rock... and when nothing could be read, she tore at her own flesh to bleed lightly, walking over the rock for her own blood to mingle with her sisters.

Their combined blood made something of a Rorschach for them to read, and a tiny face seemed to form, teardrops seeping bloodily from its eyes.

If it was a newborn or not could not be told. What could be told was that there was something to the eyes...

Potema darted in her head. Her eyes were strange. Could it be?

"We were never given an age," she lilted thoughtfully, "...she was obsessive. How she wished she was as pale as winter snow..."

She spoke her train of thought.