Chapter Text
It is said that a woman naturally becomes a mother once their child is born, that their maternal instincts are triggered the moment their eyes first lay onto the new life tucked away in their arms.
Soft skin, thin and white as paper. Tiny bodies curled towards her heart.
Their first breaths, gentle and steady.
That this primal love grows as their baby does, only getting bigger and bigger until it entirely consumes them.
Little fists grasping her fingers as tight as they can. Full faces flushed pink, framed by her dangling hair when they touch noses. A bell-like laugh from a toothless smile.
But there are those who exist where this couldn’t be further from the truth. This, of course, is through no fault of the child, but the mother’s.
It starts with unconditional love.
“Arien!” The little pot clatters onto the floor, splashing its boiling water everywhere. She’s quick though, and the woman is able to pull her daughter away before the water can hit her. Although a bit of it managed to land on the exposed part of her forearm, she was too focused on the crying child in her arms to care at that moment. “Are you okay, baby?”
She soothes the distraught girl, and her twin climbs down the chair he sat at a few feet away, stumbling over his little feet to get to them. Once he makes it to them there are already tears brimming at the corner of his eyes, and he spreads his arms wide open in an effort to hug both his mother and sister. The woman chuckles, and scoops him up in her embrace, wincing a bit when he accidentally grazes the fresh burn.
The kids are a blubbering mess, but their cries mellow out as their mother rocks them back and forth, quieting to sniffles and whimpers. Through their hushed words and hiccups they ask about their mother’s arm, and she reassures them with smiles and kisses that everything’s okay.
And everything will be.
But the love doesn’t stay, and like a crashing wave it recedes back to the cold sea.
The burn doesn’t disappear, and instead, only gets worse. What once would be nothing but a patch of slightly discolored skin was now an angry-looking keloid scar. Over and over she’d will her body to repair the injury, but nothing came out of the effort. The wound remains unchanging.
She gazes at the twins, sleeping hand-in-hand at her side. The moonlight from a nearby window bounces off their blonde heads, surrounding them like a crown of light. It was ethereal. Everyday they seemed to grow even lovelier than the day before, but the pride of a parent was nowhere to be seen in their mother. There was only confusion, and a creeping sense of dread every time she looked at them.
And she couldn’t help but think she was in the right to feel so.
And nothing but apathy and hate remains.
The emperor’s blood was fading from her hold. The curse was weakening, and so was her healing. It was almost non-existent now, as if she were a mortal and not a force of nature. And as her powers sapped away, the twins’ only grew.
It was not by much, but it was significantly greater than a month ago, and it only fuelled her suspicions. If things continued the way they did, her life would be in danger. She’d be at the mercy of the emperor, of the very bastard she swore she’d crush to dust.
It was infuriating.
The only comfort the woman had to keep her mind off her declining powers were the liquor that filled the cellar of the castle. Day and night she would be inebriated, and she saw less of the twins; of the glaring miscalculation she’d made.
Every intoxicating drop filled her core with warmth and pleasure, giving her the strength and confidence she lost all those years ago. She was young again.
“Mama?” Her children are awake now, worried. It was her daughter who spoke, her brother watching silently at her side. “Is mama hurt?”
She stares into her eyes, and once upon a time she would’ve been lost to them. They were a beautiful reflection of her own, a red that sparkled like a rare gem. They reminded her so much of herself. Too much of herself.
It was as if they were taking pieces of her for themselves, bit by bit. Yet at the same time, there was so much of him in them too, in their faces, in the shine of their hair. It was torture for her to see; herself and him, joined together in unholy union, leeching off of her like parasites. It was unsightly.
It was wrong.
Rurahel does not answer the girl, and instead tightens the hold on the object in her hand. A wine bottle.
This will do.
Now there is only tragedy.
It's still dark when Arien wakes up, and through the blurriness of sleep she starts to register tiny hands tugging her awake from behind her. She yawns and rubs her eyes, and turns her attention to the girl that stood beside the bed.
“Clara?” Her voice is rough from drowsiness and she starts to wake herself up more, because from the slits of the window panel that allowed some of the moonlight in, Arien can see shiny tracks running down the child’s face. She sits up on her elbows, pushing aside the arm draped over her waist, and reaches up to wipe the tear stains away. “Aww, baby, what’s wrong?”
Clara says nothing and sniffles, wiping her eyes harshly. Arien scoots towards the edge of the bed and hauls the child onto her lap, which only makes the girl weep a little louder.
“It’s okay, mommy’s here. Mommy has you.” She whispers, rubbing circles into her daughter’s back, but this does nothing. Next to her, the man attached to the arm from before stirs and reaches for Arien again. He finds that someone’s already beat him to it, and a sleepy eye opens to see what was happening.
“A rún…” he sees sleepily, but when the scene in front of him registers to his brain he’s fully awake, sitting up straight and joining Arien’s side quickly. “Oh, a thaisce, what happened?” He takes the blanket and wraps it around the three of them, drawing both girls close in his arms, worry apparent on his face even in the darkness. Arien rests her head on his chest, continuing to comfort their daughter.
“I think she wants to sleep here with us,” she guesses, readjusting her hold so that Clara sat between the both of them. Her partner nods, and he moves over so that the child can lay down. Her face is still red as she settles in her spot, clutching at both of her parents’ nightwear like lifelines.
“Shh, shh,” Arien uses the cuff of her sleeve to wipe the snot under the girl’s nose, and places a warm kiss on her temple, “shh, my sweet girl, everything’s alright—do you want daddy to sing you the sleepsong?” In the middle patting the girl’s head, the man shoots her a look, but to his relief the answer is a teary no. “Alright, alright, then do you just want to sleep?”
A wordless nod, and both parents oblige the girl, whose eyes were already drooping close. They arrange the blanket around them and cuddle close together, and the sniffles and hiccups quiet down until they’re replaced with soft snoring.
“A rún,” the man whispers when he sees that their daughter is in deep sleep, “is this because I came home late often?” He pouts, and Arien can see his mind has been running in circles for the past few minutes. She giggles, and he pouts deeper.
“What makes you think that?” She smiles and caresses his cheek, the man’s slight stubble providing a comforting feeling to her palm. His face shows guilt, and she tuts at him for his negativity. “It was probably just a nightmare, honey. Let's go to sleep, and ask her in the morning.”
“Arien—”
“Sleep.” She covers his eyes and leaves her hand there until he concedes, huffing good-naturedly and settling down under the covers. It's not long before he dozes off, and Arien gazes at the peaceful faces on both lover and daughter. She leans down and kisses his forehead, a small smile on her lips. “Such a worrier you are.”
A soft breeze lightly blows the bedroom window open, and bathes the bed in gentle light. It illuminates all three occupants, and Arien can’t help the swell of love that consumes her heart. She doesn’t mean to, but her mind wanders back through her memories, to the lonely and cold palace of her childhood. It was impossible, how different the past and present were.
“Like a dream come true,” she mumbles, and she drifts to sleep, happy that she’s able to say those words with sincerity.