A MOTHER'S EYE

[0mnip0tent 338]

 

Spoiler

DISCLAIMER:
Unless shared with you in-character of course, all mentioned in this post is not public knowledge. I just wanted to do some fun narrative writing for myself, because it's been a minute since I've done anything like this! Much love, hope you enjoy the read. <3

 

 

‘Le Canari’, born 6th of Owyn’s Light 638AA, 2065 

To all else, the child’s cry may have fallen as a foul screech in the morning, but to Roswyn it was the chirping of a bird in the early hours, as the sun broke through the horizon. Beautiful, and calming to her soul, such was belonging to her. This was her child.

-And truly, the baby was her own. A girl, with a fiery strike of the smallest, red curls. Her pale skin blooming with the rosiest of hues sprawling across her face. Then, finally, when her cries did calm, enchanting blue eyes did flick about the room with the utmost curiosity, as she often did. 

 

In her first nights in the home, she did not cry, rather she shouted and laughed, with an abundance of smiles. Chirps, rather, like a dear bird’s song. A bird, never to be left out of her sight. Her dearest canary. 

 

After all, Roswyn did know what lingered out beyond the walls, why might any caring mother let such a dear child out of her sight for too long?

 

She knew what happened when a girl was out of her mother’s sight. 

 

 

Thirteen summers old, upon the streets of Grense with her governess, a cold wind struck them. No, it had not stuck… It followed. It held to their skin, wet and heavy. Through the empty streets of the night they attempted to make some sense of an escape, across the bridge and into Alba until they found people. Sat at a table outside of the tavern, the candles went dark and her governess fell. The ‘cold wind’ had taken grip and control over her body, and Roswyn could do nothing but watch. 

 

Her child would never feel so weak. 

 

In the woods, with whom Roswyn trusted the most, was when she was first set under an attack. Only sixteen summers old, a creature of most frightening stature and glare pressed its hands atop her mouth until her vision fell splotched, and mind unthinking. It was not until she awoke in the cabin the next morning, her dearest gown shredded and stained, that she was certain it was no childish nightmare and instead reality.

 

Her child would never know such fear as she did, she would be certain of it.

Within the walls of the capital, sat in the Physician’s office, is where she heard the door creak most dreadfully. Thrice did she call, asking whom had entered, and not once did she receive a response. Footsteps fell as the crumbles of stone do before an avalanche, which fell inevitably closer by the minute. It wasn’t until the last minute that Roswyn threw her body against the door, in some pitiful attempt to save herself. She knew naught what sat on the other side of the door, for all she knew it could have been nothing at all, her mind playing tricks on her from paranoid that sat heavy on her being for many years. It was only pounding upon the door nearby from a dear friend, followed by the arrival of her elder brother, that she did know she was safe. 

 

Her child would never fear being alone. 

 

How she thought one day she might revisit her childhood, and write within her journal at the table near the front of her family’s home, a table previously of nothing but good luck. If only she had heard the falling of the feet behind her, or the air as it whistled around the fist that met the back of her head. How startling it was, to awaken in the dim lights of The Muse, crimson hues adorning her blue coat and painting the floor. It was her blood. The sobs that fell from her as she stumbled into the Aldor house were wretched, she did not sleep a wink for weeks, and even now she rested poorly. 

 

Her child would never fall into such a position.

 

Andromède had said that the Aldor house was compromised, her childhood home was no longer safe. So, after her wedding, she believed she might be safe in her new home. A home made, and warmed, by her own hands. As she hung a painting in the upstairs hallway, she heard footsteps. Not of her own, not of Olivier’s, certainly not as they were outside. Upon the roof. She stood frozen, certain she was hearing things, until the threats rang through the window. A creature of sorts. How it wished death upon her, how it yearned to crack her skull. Her home was no longer safe, not until it was Andromède that had slain the creature. 

 

For her child, she would do as Andromède had done for her. 

 

Her eyes would be sat upon her child at all times, kept to her heart and held close to her side. 

 

She was not paranoid, she was a mother.