The heavy heat of the Tephran clime presses thickly against the ashen blue and white of her skin, cloying and comforting all at once. It has become almost familiar now, the air tasting of home. Of familiarity. It is almost enough to mask the fear that has become a nearly living thing inside her, to soothe memories of a too recent trauma.
It has been months now since the day Levi had found her curled, near death, on the beach. But still those haunting nightmares will not leave her in peace. She cannot seem to escape the sloughing blue and empty eyes of her dead twin, waking or sleeping.
Levi is the only thing that brings her any comfort, the rock she clings to in the raging sea her life had become in the span of only a few short days. Even now, months later, she cannot seem to find purchase. And when her belly had begun to swell with the life growing inside her, she had known dread. What if she failed this child, as she has failed everyone else so many times over? She could not bear the thought, not when she already loves it so. More than life itself.
She would give this child her last breath if she had to, but that does not ease the fear that has settled in her breast.
She had always fled before, when these terrible emotions had burrowed so deeply. It had always been easier to escape into the wilds than to confront such things head on. But there is no escaping this time, nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Instead she cleaves to Levi, hoping he could forgive her for her faults.
She is standing on the beach, staring into the sunrise with a heavy expression when the first contraction startles her. She sucks in a surprised breath as the muscles of her abdomen ripple with foreboding. For a time she does not move from her spot, her feet buried stubbornly in the sand as she stares across the waves. An irrational part of her wishes to cross those waters, to the mainland, to find Levi. To bury her face against his skin and let him soothe her pain as he has done so often these last few months. But the more rational part of her brain knows she hasn’t the time. Not with her contractions becoming ever more urgent, more insistent.
He would return soon. He had to.
As another spasm ripples across her belly, she closes her eyes against the pain. When finally it has settled, she turns and makes her way inland, towards the more secluded small wood at the center of their island. It is here their child had been conceived, and it is here she would give it life.
The worst of her illness has receded, though she had remained too thin, too weak, her lanky frame unable to retain what substance it once had beneath the demands of illness and pregnancy. It is a struggle to bring the babe into the world, and by the time she has, her blue and white coat is dark with sweat, sand clinging heavily to her clammy skin. But still she struggles upright, determined to see to her child.
As she nuzzles and cleans the colt, a bubble of love bursts inside her chest, glowing wearily from the blue of her gaze. He is a handsome boy, dark, with bright fissures of red and orange across his skin. But she does not have long to fawn over him before her stomach ripples with another contraction, seeming only to grow in intensity rather than fading.
She gasps against the pain, fear once more crowding into her chest as she crumples beside her son. She nuzzles soft kisses along his little nose and forehead, tears leaking from her eyes as she squeezes them closed. “It’ll be ok,” she whispers desperately against his downy skin, though she does not believe it herself. “I love you. My sweet Firen.”
If nothing else, he would know her love for him.
It seems fate has a sense of humor, however. After several more long, agonizing contractions, another child joins them, slipping onto the sandy loam of their tropical home. For what seems ages (though in truth it is likely no more than a few minutes) Rapture lays exhausted, unable to stir herself from her prone position. Her muscles tremble with fatigue, eyes drooping heavily as she struggles to remain awake.
When finally she can summon the strength, it seems she can do no more than pull herself sternal. After several stumbling attempts to rise, she cedes to defeat. Her struggles, at least, had brought her around enough to reach the filly that squirms against the sand. Exhaustion drags at her, but still she cleans the girl (a beautiful navy and white filly, so reminiscent of the woman who had birthed her), nibbling affectionately at the soft tufts of her mane as she fights to remain awake.
“Ferran,” she whispers, unable to find the strength to do more than utter the single word before fatigue claims her.
Make me a promise that time won't erase us
That we were not lost from the start
Rapture
@[Levi]
