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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    Flood // (Late) Birthing ANY
    #1
    She didnt want it.

    From the moment she saw the likeness of it's father she wanted the winged beast to stray far from her. The product of her undoing lay crumpled beside her, the woman barely taking time to clean it. It shuddered and wheezed, pulling close to her to try and keep warm, though Rant wanted no part.

    Twas a boy that lay there, wings pulled close to its dark sides. He looked up to her and Rant looked quickly away.

    By God he had her child's eyes.

    The only child she had ever really loved. 

    By God this bastardization had her Moriarty's eyes... 

    The huntress looks down upon the boy once more and despite her hatred for his creation the woman can not hate him. It hadn't been his fault she had been weak. 

    "I suppose you will be called Tulva."
    The woman rasps before standing. She urges the boy to do the same and it is then that she sees it.

    He is crippled. 

    "Oh child..."
    She mutters, helping the boy to his hooves with ease. While later in life he would be large, the child was small now and it was no feat to help him around. As he nurses eagerly Rant raises her gaze to the sky above them. It was a beautiful shade of amethyst with stars twinkling ever so brightly. One falls and she finds herself wishing she hadnt wished such painful things on the boy. He was her's now, no matter how much the woman despised motherhood. He was her's. 
     
    When he is full and asleep once more in the grass beside his mother she takes a good look at him. Despite the small wings he carries it would be easy to say his father was dead. Not a single trace of lavender painted his ebony body. Only small traces of his mother's huntress green. 

    Rant smiles. 

    One day she would make that bastard pay for what he had done to her, but for now she had a child to raise and a life to run. 

    ~~~
    OOC: I wrote this on my phone late at night. Its unedited and poorly written but i needed to post a really late birthing post.
    [Image: amaranthpixel_by_voltum-dc324q8.png]
    A m a r a n t h a
    ☆.。.




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