One-offs

The mother

She sat slumped in her chair, emotionless.
Emotionless at the fact that she just produced a miracle.
A child, a new life.

A rebirth.

The doctors waited, despite the woman looking a bit... alien, with long flowing locks of green, interweaved with lighter and darker patches. With a mask that was a lighter tone then the rest of her body, which was as green as her hair, and an orange beak that she would use to eat... And talk in multiple different languages, including human.

Her jawline was defined, extremely well that even the shadows respected it and morphed seamlessly around the idiosyncratic woman. She used no makeup, for she didn't need any, she was the stereotypical queen, governing the beauty of the world; a reborn Aphrodite.

The doctors were completely puzzled, at the fact that she stared into space, thinking about anything and everything, all the whilst looking extremely calm. Almost unknowing of the fact of what's to come.

She sat in the hospital bed, bolt upright, both during her birth and afterwards, not moving a singular inch, like a statue trained to mimic its last position; in this case she was trained to mimic a goddess, powerful, empyreal.

Despite what the doctors thought of her, she would seldom blink, or move her face at all. Even without makeup, she looks slathered to perfection, with long, thick lashes that swooned downwards and up in perfect form, like flocks upon flocks of birds ready to migrate to a new paradise.
Her eyebrows were likewise thick and uniform, the perfect purity, similarly the exact right length, width and curve, albeit a bit lobsided, perhaps from the stress of trying to fuel her façade.

It was time. It was night-time more specifically. If the doctors thought that she was already serious and ethereal, they were not ready.

She was nocturnal.

Her eyes jutted just slightly more open, ready for anything, singularly multitasking at what she should do. And the spotlight shone on her.
More specifically, the night lights came on, distorting any resemblance of the hospital ward, into a more cosy and passionate place of healing.

The shadows were even more distorted by her radiance and magnificence. They were indoctrinated into creating a seamless stream of beauty, becoming a passionate occult simply to the woman, more specifically her face. But then the unexpected happened.

She moved her arms.

From the bolt upright position on her lap, straight to a cross-armed pattern. She was ready to fight. She was ready to deter any predator or simple misfortunate factoid into becoming perfection in reference to herself. They were her pray, she was simply the radiance that signed the referendums into submission.

Now, her arms lied below her breasts, fuelled with the necessary genes and biological mechanisms to make her new-born baby excel in the future, to become a worthy legacy, worthy to become the prince.

Her long nightgown was now more than appropriate to wear, with sleeves that were longer then most, purposefully to create a most necessary juxtaposition between the hand that fed and the fabric that protected, only opening up on the queen's command.

The doctors started to leave one by one, at the end of their shifts, all becoming magnitudes more tired by the end, although seeming more energetic and bright in the presence of a radiance. All except one.

"Ma'am," He remarked, almost as if he was addressing something above him which deserved ultimate respect, "Even though you're not human, do you still not want a midwife? It is much safer that way..."

It was too late, he already paid the price of misjudging perfection's decisions. Fortunately the newfound mother must've felt a lot more sympathetic comparative to the atmosphere that she was practically pumping out.

"No, Queen no need servants." The woman said, not entirely in an entitled tone, but a formal and informative one, like saying 'It's ok, I know you're stupid'.

The doctor then shyly walked towards the door into to NICU, ready to finally give back the mother's rightful heir to all that mattered.

It was intense, the couple of minutes between the doctor leaving and coming back.
The mother remained immoveable, like an unstoppable object ready to collide with anything, no matter its strength.
However the atmosphere tensed, the shadows became less natural and more soldier-like, aligned on neat rows upon her face and body, almost as if to wage war with the ignorant light that tainted her character.

Not only that, but also her sheets.
Her sheets were perfectly placed, ready to become a bunker encapsulating her beauty to save man-kind, although incredibly unnaturally shaped, curving outwards as if to say that she did not deserve the protection that it willingly volunteered.

Then the man came in, loosening the tight atmosphere.

The baby. It was crying.

The mother looked disapprovingly at the baby, as if it did not believe that this was her legacy, her reason for existence. Her left brow was now lobsided, she must've been extremely angry at this fact, or that she was merely contemplating what to do.

The baby was handed near her cheek, and at this moment.

"Queen never cry."

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ヽ(°〇°)ﾉ shalom.