rayemma oneshots & other

What I've Done

• Oneshot

No spoiler warning!

Note: a request from an ao3 user

It was something that, thankfully, never came to be. Now, Emma could not even fathom ever choosing a different path. It was completely out of the question.

But something about it still lingered. The thought of it came back every now and then. And the hypothetical end would still haunt her.

What if she really had given up?

She stirred in a panic, her breath ragged as she shot up from the ground.

She'd never thought the sight of a dark and foreboding cavern would ever be more comforting than the House, but tonight, it was. She was very glad that she didn't wake up in an infirmary bed, and her leg didn't throb when she moved, and she didn't have to see Mama's eyes that chilled her to the core. They had escaped. It was all fine.

Emma had chosen to fight, in the end.

But ever since the first night they'd been here, Emma remembered the offer Isabella had given her.

Emma could just vaguely remember being laid down and treated by Mujika. Her hand had drifted across Emma's head so softly, and her voice had been so cordial, Emma had felt like she was in Isabella's arms again, being mothered.

But when she remembered Isabella, she remembered that day, too.

That day, her heart had felt so heavy, her body had cried with such fatigue, she really was on the verge of giving in.

"Live on, and become a Mom." Isabella had said.

Emma felt disgusted to recall what she had asked then.

"...How do you become a Mom?"

Isabella had pulled her out of that hug, which felt like pins and needles, and gave a sickeningly pleased expression.

"It's a process. You'll learn many things, and meet many other girls. You'll have to compete with them. You'll have to rise to the top, just as I did."

Isabella had smiled, and caressed her hand across Emma's left ear.

"You will have to fight. But you've always been quite good at that, haven't you?"

Emma's stomach had churned, but she dared to ask another question.

"What about... having a child?"

"They're placed inside you," Isabella had said vaguely, which was possibly the most terrifying way she could have put it. "But don't worry. It doesn't hurt. You're not forced to move at all while you're carrying your child. You get to rest, just like now."

"Yes, it's strange at times, while they're growing." She had continued. "You'll feel sick on occasion. You'll feel their hands and legs inside you. But then they'll be born... and you can live."

Nausea had welled up in Emma's throat as she dipped her head.

She had really thought about it.

Would this really be the right way to live?

Would it hurt less if I chose this?

I'm sorry, Norman. I'm sorry, everyone. I'm sorry I'm even thinking this. Would you all hate me?

Emma had imagined cradling a newborn in her arms, one with her eyes, and then holding its hand at twelve years old as she led it off to its death.

Could I bear that?