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FANTASY. xxi. from a cradle to a grave ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
SWALLOWING THE SHAMEFUL LUMP which formed in her throat, Genevieve then took the blade to Moira's exposed lower abdomen. Doing her absolute best to disregard Hayley's anguished cries in command of freedom, the redhead slid the blade across the underside of the girl's pregnancy bump. Her jaw clenched at the sound of the tearing flesh, the noise serving as an indication that she was, in fact, going through with the plan that had brought her such confliction. Though, Genevieve remained unreadable to the rest of her people as she dug her hands into the incision she'd made. Once the witch was able to take hold of the baby's foot, it was with care and caution that she proceeded to pull the remainder of the body out of the abdomen.
While it may not have been particularly quiet within the building, the witches were able to notice the absence of shrieking sobs that were to derive from the newborn baby. Immediately, they were thrown into a panic. They knew that if the sacrifice were to be unsuccessful, they would suffer the consequences or they would have to find something else as a replacement. Either way, it would force Genevieve to have to take disgraceful actions that went against her morals once again – she felt the sacrifice she was making that day was already enough.
"Why isn't it crying?" Monique implored, her grip on Hayley's arm subconsciously growing tighter. As if it weren't obvious already, the Deveraux was getting impatient with the entire process. It was as if the entire universe was against them, taking multiple shots at their efforts to obey those above them. "Genevieve!"
"I don't know!" The ginger barked, becoming agitated between the young witch's constant need to open her mouth and the current obstacle to their plan.
It was moments like these that Genevieve was grateful for her past in the nursing industry; due to her experience, she knew that the only reason a baby may come out of the womb without so much as a wail was if they lacked a stable heartbeat, and she knew how the best way to fix it. Rotating the baby's body so that it was dangling by the one leg that Genevieve held, the witch then began to flick the bottom of the foot. Fortunately, with just a small series of flicks, piercing cries sounded through the thick air.
Releasing a relieved breath, Genevieve then received assistance in slicing the umbilical cord. Wrapping the baby in a cloth, the ginger held it rather close to her chest in an attempt to bring the being some form of comfort. Although, it did nothing of the sort; if anything, it was as if the child could sense the danger in her mere presence, sense its own fate. She then locked eyes with the witch standing at the head of Moira's body, providing a nod in approval. And with just that, the witch took the athame, ruthlessly sliding it across the girl's throat.
"No!"
She'd seen it all, unfortunately. Despite every fiber within her being that told her to look away because she knew what was to come, Hayley couldn't. And how deeply did she regret it, the traumatic image now permanently embedded into her brain; for just a split second, the werewolf was nearly glad she would be executed, aware that if she were gone she would no longer have to live with the surely everlasting painful memory of having to watch against her will as the only true friend she'd ever had was granted the death she were to soon meet herself. Just like her, Moira was a mother to be. However, she was so cruelly snatched of the most ethereal experiences a person could possibly imagine, and all due to the selfish and immoral desires of the witches. Though, the werewolf also knew for a fact that Moira would want nothing more than for her to keep fighting, for both the sake of their children and herself. Hayley needed to take her opportunity to brawl, an opportunity that Moira wasn't given.
