Bearclaw Valley quoniam iniquitatem meam ego cognosco
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Birth 
backdated to may 22nd. bernie gives birth high as fuck

for days now she'd felt them somewhere low in her womb, wriggling, like worms, waiting to burst out.

it was a crude description of unborn life, yes, but made sensible by the incredible amounts of psychoactives she'd ingested, hoping to force the body to eject them, if they hadn't sense enough to leave on their own.

they were late, she knew it, like she knew her age and the number of times she'd done this before. they crowded somewhere near the entryway into her birth canal, poking their little wet snout out, but thinking it beneath them to crawl out into the cold, cruel world which awaited them past their mother's tail.

fine enough, not that they were wrong. bernadette acutely felt her years, and knew so much was wasted when she spent those months among the uneducated savages of ursus. 

stay, little wet things, remain inside, don't yet start that horrid clock counting down until the terrifying moment you realize you've dedicated your life to study - yet learned nothing.

eventually, the contractions did begin, in the dead of night, waking her from drug-addled sleep. she did as the year before, and the one before, and that before, and behaved in a way any midwife would praise.

despite the muddling of her senses, she forced her eyes to focus on each pushed out pup, inspect it closely. she looked for signs, for omens. anything that would clue her in that the ursine spirit was present within the valley, watching over the birth happening within. she found nothing. not until the last child, large and brown, but even that one seemed too awfully similar to its older siblings, gods-know-where out in the world.

bernadette exhaled trough her nostrils, and pushed that one next to its siblings too, all swarming her swollen teats like... 

...like maggots to a septic wound...

the beardog shut her eyes tight, but even so she could feel them suckling out her precious milk.

as parasites often did.
[Image: Cultist_Acolyte_Dead.png]
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parasite.

the newborn had not known she was thought of in this light, but it was fitting. how weak she was away from the womb, how she hardly lived if not attached to the warmth of mother's milk.

parasite.

ill now outside of her host. tiny snorts from a smushed face, feeble whines, and then the first big slumber.

darkness was a welcomed relief already. here there would be nothing but comfort before the harsh reality of life shined its face on her again.

i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
and whispered
where does it hurt?
note: bjarna speaks broken english at best.
icelandic will be italicized with translations on hover/click.
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her eyes remained shut, but unsight couldn't save her from the sensation.

their tiny feet pressing into the soft, sensitive meat of her teats and belly, latched onto her nipples with slick little mouths drinking deep of her body.

a shudder went down the lenght of her back.

a part of her knew it was the drugs, or at least suspected it, a possible cause along with a spirit's curse - but still she felt as if her body had pushed out something filthy.

her mouth was slick and bitter with their accursed afterbirth.
[Image: Cultist_Acolyte_Dead.png]