Deaths hand in mine

Mama Agatha

As Agatha woke up the next morning, her womb had already grown in size. She felt the faint traces of life in her. With her hand she stroked over her belly, looking at it with hesitation. She still was unsure if this was really what she wanted. Another child. Another child of death.
Would this baby die again, just like Nicky. How much life could really come out of a love-child with death herself. She should have learned the lesson the first time. But now here she was, with no way back.

Her womb grew with every day. She felt the baby grow stronger. She felt the warmth that vibrated from it.
But it felt strange, very diffrent from how Nicky had felt. With him, Agatha had wanted to give everything she had to him while he was in her belly. But with this child, it seemed like she had no other choice. It took from her, even tapping into her purple. She could feel it but not change it. Neither could she figure out if she gave it willingly or it was just taken from her.
The mother in her decided that she of course wanted to give, because this was her child. She loved her child.
But the witch in her knew it was wrong and that this child would never be loved like it was suppose to be.

One night Agatha woke up with a stabbing pain in her womb. The baby had let her know that it was time. She wanted to live.
Even the birth was different from Nickys. It was short, but felt more painful then anything.
And then, a little baby girl laid in Agathas arms. She looked at her mother in wonder and squirmed around to find the familiar warmth of her. But Agatha just stared at her with a tear stained face. She searched for the feeling of happiness and love that should rush over her right now. But she just felt drained.