Valentine Morgestern

Valentine Morgenstern- Part 9

My final three months of pregnancy were spent in our bedroom. Every night I'd have terrifying nightmares and be so exhausted when I woke that I'd be forced to sleep all day. I heard strange screams which Valentine convinced me were a figment of my imagination and in my blind love for him I believed him. I stayed in that room and ignored the outside world and no one troubled themselves to tell me anything that was going on, they did not tell me that Stephen Herondale had divorced Amatis and had remarried Celine at the insistence of my husband. I remained unaware that Valentine was planning to thwart the Accords and slaughter all Downworlders and demons. I remained oblivious to his actions outsider our room. I stayed locked in that room by my own choosing.

Then the baby was born.

My Mother passed me the baby in a white fluffy blanket and he had the most beautiful white blond hair just like his Father. I gazed in awe at his beautiful sleeping face. He was perfect. He fit so perfectly in my arms like he was made for me to hold him close to my heart. He was so soft and warm, so perfect. Just lovely. My boy.

When he opened his eyes I felt like I'd been bathed in acid. My blood ran cold in my veins and I shivered. His eyes were black, empty. They were the soulless eyes of a demon. Every Mother knows her own baby but the opposite is also true, this wasn't my son. This was a creature that could not be human. I felt my grip on him slacken and my stomach turn in horror. I bit my lip hard to swallow my scream of horror at the sight of those black tunnels he had for eyes and I drew blood.

"He's beautiful," My Mother cooed lovingly. She was a lovely woman so caring but I couldn't understand how she didn't see it, this wasn't a baby. No child had soulless eyes and eyes that black. My baby scared me to the core.

"He is," I lied, the lie bitter in my mouth.

I stared at him in horror for a few more moments. I was repulsed by the sight of him. This could not be the child I had carried for nine months. My child had green eyes. I'd always imagined my child with lively, animated green eyes. These were the eyes of a demon, hollow, empty, greedy and destructive. Cruel eyes. I realised a baby could not have cruel eyes but this baby did. This imposter, he wasn't even a baby.

My own thoughts were disgusting me. Why did I feel so repulsed by my own child? He was our own flesh and blood. There was nothing more to it. Maybe it was shock. No mother hated her own baby yet I did. I was terrified by the sight of him. Already I was a bad mother, I appeared incapable of loving my own child.

"His name is Jonathan Christopher," Valentine said from the door, interrupting my disgusting thoughts.

"I like the name," I murmured obligingly.

"A true Shadowhunters name for the best one ever to be born," he announced.

I nodded in agreement but I still felt cold. Valentine took the baby and cooed. He plainly adored his long awaited son, his prodigy, his gift to the world. He had been long awaited and now he was here he did not disappoint his Father.

The baby in the cradle stretched and Valentine smiled in apparent amusement. I bit my lip as I watched.

"He's hungry Lynn," Valentine said.

With stiff arms and an unwilling heart I took the thing, I could barely think of it as a baby, into my arms and unlaced my nightgown and allowed him to feed. I was tense as I fed him, I was struggling not to throw the baby. Something about it repulsed me. My Mother soothed me whilst I struggled because she had been there before having borne me thought it was just shock and exhaustion mixed with uncertainty where I wasn't sure how to care for a child and I wasn't sure how to express this to them.

My Mother took my son and tucked him into his cot by our bed and I lay back in the pillows and fought my tears. Why didn't I feel that instant bond that Maryse had described to me about when she first held her son? Why did I hate him? Maryse told me that the moment she held Alec she'd never wanted to let him go ever again. Me, on the other hand, I wanted to toss my child away from me. What was wrong with me? I just wanted to love my son like I was supposed to. My mind blinked back over the past few months and nothing glaringly obvious jumped out at me as a reason for me to hate my child as all through my pregnancy I had been so excited to meet my child, cradle them in my arms and sing lullabies to them. I had been envisioning dropping them off at school, spending nights in the training room with them and taking them on patrol for the first time. I had been imagining how they'd look, their first ball at the consul, their first love and their children, my grandchildren. Now my imaginings had shifted, now I imagined just being able to hold him without wanting to vomit, looking into his eyes and seeing something beautiful and loving how it felt when they said my name something I didn't think I'd ever love about Jonathan. Part of me doubted that I'd ever love him at all and I hated myself for that. In fact I hated myself so much I wanted to kil myself.