Chapter Text
When you were born, your father cried instead of you. You weren't breathing, heart and body still, even when he cradled you close and shared his warmth.
You were tiny, fitting snugly into both his hands. Fragile, like the ceramics he made. Vulnerable, like a flower blooming in winter. You were the first child your mother had carried to a full term, so he wept when he heard nothing beating in your chest, kissed your forehead as his tears hit your skin.
Then you wailed.
He almost dropped you as a hot light burned on your hand, a candle within the darkness of their house. The beating wind from outside howled and your father and mother waited in tense silence. But it gave him hope, for surely the noise meant something? You were alive! It was a sign of hope—
When the light disappeared, your parents stared at your hand with horror.
"No," your mother croaked, wiping her hair away from her sweaty face. She laughed. "No, no, no. Francis, it must be the exhaustion." Her face crumpled. "But somehow, I see—my child can't—no."
As if you could sense her distress, you wailed harder. Your father clutched your hand, bringing it to his eyes to inspect it. On your clear skin was an imprinted birthmark, a perfect sphere dipped in red ink.
The mark of the harbinger.
Oracle.
He dropped it like he touched fire.
"No," your mother repeated. "No, not our child."
And again, your father cried.