Ravensblood Forest yon lanmè nwa

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: gore, infant loss

Her flanks quivered with each contraction. She reminded herself to breathe through them, but the waves of pain were that of a cruel and angry sea through which the siren would not find safe passage. Her sister recoiled and slithered beside her like a snake, with each effort bringing forth new life; but like a serpent charmer Chacal was there to kiss her heavenly auburn brow, bathe the children, and nestle them against their mother's breast.

She warded off the frustrated would-be nurse-maid, Meredith, whose well-intended actions were not those of a skilled midwife. Though she battled against her own pain, she would see to her sister first- and while Mireille languished, the shuddering of muscles in her flank heralded a struggle that was not yet over. Gently, she reached to jostle her sister, hoping to rouse her spirit for a final effort.

She gasped as a bolt of pain hit her deep within her pelvis.

Her sister faded from view. All the world darkened until she was alone, save for a soft light, akin to candleflame. Beneath her was stone, slick and dark. With blood? No, sea water. Sea water all around.

The Thoughtstone.

She could smell green, Spring earth on the air. She heard the flitting of little birds, the sweet chatter of swallows as they danced and swooped somewhere above her in the darkness. She looked down at her feet, to the soft bed of moss that had begun to creep over the stone, and when she looked up, a great horned owl reached out its talons, spread its wings, and landed at the edge of the stone.

Its eyes were black, but transfixed upon Chacal, who remained wordless. A spray of salt-water made her blink- and instantly, the owl became a towering, black wolf with the same dark eyes as the owl.

"Pa Pè," ("Fear not.") came a reassuring voice, and she felt her fear drain like water from a basin. In the distance, she thought she heard the murmur of childspeak- murmurs and whimpers from Mireille's children. As she looked at the man, she realized not only did she hold no disdain for him, but she recognized his face.

Brise.

The lwa of hills, the guardian of children. His gaze roamed past her- back toward reality where three children nursed at her sister's side. A warm smile appeared on his face, but a light whimper from Chacal brought those black eyes back to her, and filled them with concern.

She found both her voice, and her words.

Silvouplè- pran pa m.("Please, take mine.") He began to shake his head. "Mwen sipliye ou-" ("I beg you-") He paused, his lips pulling to a thin line. "Mwen pa vle yo fèt nan mond sa a." ("I do not want them born into this world.") She felt her heart break, but she herself did not. "Pa isit la." ("Not here.")

Not here. Not where they would be captives, raised as slaves. Not where they would see their mother, their aunt, bend, bow their heads, and break.

She closed her eyes, and felt warmth sweep over her, a fever rising that would burn, and simultaneously silence all the flame within her. She heard the sound of childrenspeak again- opened her eyes to see a pair of beautiful twins trotting across the water's surface, alongside Brise.

Away, past where the tides ended, they disappeared into the mist.

The wailing she heard when light returned and illuminated the cavern was hers, and hers only. No song would come from the pair of children she birthed, only silence. They would not know the sorrow of their mother's voice, and while she was relieved that they would be spared the harrowing life of a prisoner, she grieved her loss all the same and clutched them close so they might at least share her warmth one last time.