Herbalists' Cache the promise

darkness. all she has ever known is the crushing press of it, the heavy, suffocating warmth of her mother’s womb. it is not cruel. not yet. here, she is nothing but a twitch of limbs, suspended in stillborn peace. her world is muffled. her world is safe. 

until it is not.

there is a shift—violent, sudden. her world begins to close in around her, pressing too tightly, squeezing, forcing her downward, outward. she does not understand. she does not have the mind for fear, not yet, but something within a tiny, unfinished body knows this is wrong.

she flails—weak, pitiful. her limbs are too small to fight. her mouth parts, but there is no air to scream. only pressure. only the world falling apart around her. no, no, no. she does not wish to leave. she does not wish to be born. she curls in on herself, as if that might stop it, as if her fragile spine might somehow hold her within her mother’s cradle. 

the push is unbearable. it crushes soft little ribs, wrings the pitiful air from underdeveloped lungs. she is expelled into the cold with a sudden, brutal force—and she knows nothing but wrong. she does not know the word death, but she feels it. gnawing at her little bones, curling its fingers around her slowing heart. she cannot breathe.

her body hits the ground like a fallen star—tiny, lifeless, black as night. she does not cry. her mouth hangs open, but her chest does not rise with first breath. there is no air. no warmth. only the deep, yawning ache of a body not yet ready for this world. 

her mother’s tongue comes, rough and urgent, raking over her ribs, coaxing life that does not answer. the blood is still wet. and then—

cold air floods her lungs like fire, burning and raw. she shrieks, a high, frail sound that barely registers as life. her limbs curl against her belly, too frail to stretch, too small to seek warmth. everything hurts. her chest feels like it is caving in. 

her mother pulls her close. the heat is unbearable, like molten stone against skin too new to bear it. she squirms, squeals, as if she cannot stand to be touched. her siblings press against her, too large, too loud.

but she cannot leave now.