maiken, district seven | fin

you were born a rabbit in a pack of feral wolves.

just a waif, doe-eyed thing with skin like ivory and a voice as smooth as honey, born with a heart of glass and not one of stone. fragile in all senses of the word, everything a Forrester wasn't supposed to be—kind like nursing a bird with a broken wing back to health and gentle like calming your siblings down when their blood starts to boil with the smoldering ferocity of the old gods.

you weren't like them, your family, they were made from everything cruel and proud that leeched itself onto this world. they wore cheshire grins when drawing a knife over the pale of an innocent's throat on a sacred altar and painted their satin, alabaster skin with the crimson blood. they not only sacrifice the life of another, but they sacrifice their own humanity just to have a taste of divinity.

that part never settled right in your stomach.

you were a black sheep of the bloodline from the moment you drew your first breath in this unforgiving world. your birth was to be one of golden-hued reverence, a hallowed gift from the old gods for their years of unwavering devotion. it was to be a memory woven into the antiquated tapestries of your family's history, something to be remembered.

and in the beginning, it was.

you were born at night. the sky was starless, midnight has chased every inch of light from the sky. the moon was at its highest peak, it sat at the crest of the ink-black sky like it was his throne of night.

a piercing scream tore through the fabric of the sky, her cries made the trees tremble and the birds flee from their nests, and gods themselves stir. the wind howled like wolves, but it couldn't drown out the sound of her wails. maidens stood around her bare body. her cries began to meld into chants, words of ancient magic as your newborn body ripped through her womb.

her body was bathed in crimson. they had slit the throats of three foxes over her nude frame and let her drink from the gaping wound of another's neck. drops of wild vervain pressed to her bloodstained lips and black snakeroot burned around her, the smoke curled like snakes in the night air. they called out for the old and mighty gods, asked for them to stir and shake the distant mountains and bless them with-

you.

as you bled from her body, she cried.

when you first opened your eyes and felt the summer air against your milky skin, you didn't cry. like a hawk, you watched a smile tug at the corners of your mother's lips. her lips brushed against your skin. hair of snow and eyes as cold as ice—it was the mark of the gods.

maiken, she whispered in between shallow breaths.

it meant rebellion.

a midnight raven crows and Odin trembles.

you were an omen of death.

the crow of a raven meant something dark. some thought you should be left in the heart of the woods, let the wolves sink their teeth into your skin, and nourish the earth with your blood. others wanted to take a dagger to your throat and bleed you before the gods, an offering to Odin himself. but your mother, though cold and distant, bared her canines and snarled at them, ordering that you were not to be touched.

and on a full moon, she took you into her arms and placed you upon an altar. the stone is dimly lit by a triquetra made of candles, gently flickering in the wind. she dipped her hands in the blood of a coyote, guiding her fingers across your skin, painting ancient runes. she covers your stomach in daisy oil, it's a symbol of purity, of rebirth. you were to be born anew—purged of the curse tainting your blood, her blood.

she weaves magic within her hands. her eyes roll back as she chants the ancient language of the old gods, the pale of her eyes looking up to the night sky. she begs for the grace of Idun and the blessings of Odin.

the world is still.

neither earth nor sky shift. there are no cries of birds nor branches of trees dancing in the wind.

the gods have made their decision.

you can't be saved.

after a MILLION years, she's finally done and i'm honestly not sure where i was trying to go but come get your girl napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.