The Sunspire my dove, my lamb

Consciousness was new to the little girl. Prior to this very moment, existence had been made easy for her — almost everything was taken care of or provided for, from the only source she knew. Mama. She needn’t think about the act of growing her own toes and fur, and she found that she didn’t worry about the various other parts of fetus-hood, from the receiving of nutrients, down to the spastic twitching of her limbs. It all just… happened, and she was powerless to stop it.

Not that she wanted to.

In fact, had Eleuthera known that the world would be so very bright and so very cold, she might have tried a little harder to stay inside. No, instead she had been born, and the foreign act of feeling and perceiving was altogether overwhelming. The girl was even thinking for the first time, though what passed through her brain wasn’t so much thought as it was a simple reaction to stimuli: everything was either a resounding yes, I like this! or a oh no, I definitely do not like that. She found that things she once understood without question, she now questioned very much! Like, who were these others wriggling things, and why did they squirm about so? Why was Mama so big? What was happening? She was hyperaware of the brightness of the world despite her sealed eyes, so she mewled about, utterly blind, and tried to figure out what this feeling in the pit of her stomach might be. Eventually she would come to know it as hunger, but for now, it was only uncomfortable and she couldn’t seem to make it stop.

She cried out from sheer frustration.