Hushed Willows omission of thy mother's love [birth]

Into the embrace of sleep the boy had drifted, falling under the spell whilst his mouth continued to work over his mother's teat. To suckle was a skill that he'd been born with, instinct driving him to latch on when he could and fill his stomach. Yet, there'd been a shift, his source of nourishment having nearly been torn away from him. Immediately had his jaws tightened around the nipple, gums doing their damnedest to hold tight. Being as small as he was, however, Eros had stood no chance against his mother and the slight movements of her body. Away from him had she torn herself—unintentionally, it seemed, as her attention was on another of the children—causing for the newborn's body to tremble.

A second, maybe two, had passed and then he'd suddenly started to wail. In spite of the hatred and negativity that he'd been exposed to in utero, he'd developed just fine, his lungs fully formed and operable. He'd cried and cried, awaiting to receive a response; a touch, the comfort of his siblings' forms, or, perhaps, his mother's affection.