Acca Larentia
#1
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Word Count → 3+

mommy loves you.


Once again, her world had darkened.


Things had been going continually, progressively wrong for the Apothecary. Her children were catalysts - It seemed they oozed their wrongness into every aspect of her life. She loved them regardless, although the love seemed strained sometimes, founded on guilt rather than genuine emotion. It was more so with the young girl-child; Elvira fluctuated her life between chasms of guilt and spearpoints of frustration. She knew it was not the pup's fault, for her soul had been made wrong, whereas Elijah's mind had been. For that, she found herself more able to love the faulty blue-eyed boy. His piercing gaze reminded her of the unspoken son, the one she had lost to the heathen with the blood-red eyes and the viper's tongue.


Her palm itched with the satisfaction of having made forceful contact with her face. Another catalyst, that day had been - The day that her youngest had spoken his first and only words, and her oldest son had crushed her heart.


She had cried a bit, in the days afterwards, but despair was tolerable now. She had experienced so much of it, that as with any drug it lessened its hold after progressive use. The ache beneath her breast remained, another inner scar that could so easily open and bleed her all out. She had been a husk once before, a zombie surviving only on the wayward scent of hope, and loathed the thought of reaching such pits again.


Odette was more active now. Her older age meant that the girl often forayed on her own, playing with the small pack of puppies that had been birthed to Cour des Miracles this year. She was a natural child, and once she'd overcome her shyness, had become a vibrant addition to the playful group. Elvira and Elijah, however, had not, and Alaine had a violent suspicion that they never would be. Elvira had no need for them - Her independence had been unfaltering since birth, and those her age only seemed to infuriate the beautiful little girl. Elijah, however, suffered the cruelty of whelps; He was different, and different was so easily labelled for exclusion.


She sought the boy out now, wanting to question him again as she had every day since the catalyst, hoping beyond hope that he would give her some more treasured words. He was old enough to be allowed to explore the hotel, although Alaine had forbidden both her children to leave its grounds. The day was warm and clear, and she went to sit on the step of the open front door, emerald eyes scouring the thick grasses beyond. A small call left her maw - A series of barks and huffing sounds that was instinctively programmed to retrieve her children. Elvira was adept at ignoring it, but Elijah never had.


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#2
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wc: 398

The confrontation had been a turning point for Elijah. He had never seen any adult speak or act the way the two who had come for his mother had. Even Elvira, for all her cruelty, had never used such aggression. For once, he had been proud of his sister for being so bold—and even prouder of himself for standing up to the monster with the blue eyes. Yet those faces were fast fading, leaving only grotesque fantasies in their place in his memory. Elijah believed in monsters, most certainly, but he would have fought them both for his mother.

Since that day too, he had begun to change, however slightly. A degree of possessiveness began to show in his quickly growing body. He now growled if Elvira tried to bite at his bandana. Distrust was not a word he fully understood, nor did he practice it. Strangers were still potential friends, but he had begun to identify body language and recognize the different between someone who was nice and someone who was not. So while he did not fear, he watched. This odd behavior, this stillness, it unnerved many.

But often, too, he lost himself in the world of imagination. Sometimes the fantasy changed, but he always returned to the first because it was his favorite. Strong in body and colored like fire, he stampeded through the grass with massive hooves and a beautiful mane, a stallion who was uncontrollable even by his big-brother with the yellow eyes. Of course, even stallions have to answer to their mother’s. This was why, as the animal paraded through the grass, he turned suddenly and sharply and galloped towards the call that always had the power to summon him.

What emerged from the brilliant emerald was not a stallion, as he so often pretended to be, but a puppy still fat from youth and awkward from lack of understanding. His desert-sky eyes were wide and a broad smile had carved itself across his face, displaying pink tongue and sharp white baby teeth to his mother. No malice lived within him, so this was not a terrible thing. A white-tipped tail wagged furiously as he approached, trotting up to her with his head high and his face all smiles; this too echoed on his bandana, forever smiling, forever happy, even if shadows and monsters came for the boy that wore it.


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#3
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Word Count → 3+


Perhaps the boy would not seem so odd if he had been able to communicate the wondrous and fantastical imaginations of his mind. All children were capable of creating fictional stories and games for themselves, but most could proudly voice to their guardians that they were a stallion, galloping wild and free.


All Alaine saw was her quirky, wrong son, running in an odd stiff-legged lope with that same hollow smile on his face as usual. Something within her heart caved, just a little - Perhaps, in the woman's own imagination, she had fantasized about calling for her son and having a normal little boy run through the grass to her.


But that was the thing about becoming an adult - There was no escape from reality.


Regardless of this cruel recognition, love swelled within her at the sight of the tubby merle body, the beautiful blue eyes. They were such a startlingly pure color, lighter even than Caillen's had been; Like crystals, portals to the child trapped within his own mind. For that alone, she found redemption for him, for having created him. Elijah may have been wrong, but he was pure, and she knew him to have the most golden of hearts.


She had taken to her four-legged form today, wishing for the freedom it provided. Although she had no hands, this skin felt comfortable and more natural when interacting with her children, who were yet too young to perform the transformation themselves. Already, Alaine had imagined what they would look like - Beautiful, she mused lightly. The Winters children, for all their flaws, were both handsome creatures with silky, glossy fur and well-built bodies. Once they had grown out of their endearing puppy fat, she had little doubts that like their mother and their father, they would be pleasing to the eye.


Looking down on Gabriel's mask, but undeniably Elijah's face, the colliewoman smiled gently. Her final seeking calls had faded on sight, and now as the rotund little boy trotted up to her with excitably wagging tail, she could not help but mirror the true joy she saw, buried deep and unaccessible within those beautiful eyes. "Elijah, mo croi," Came the gentle coo to award his obedience. Her pink tongue sought to groom his widely smiling face, and the disheveled little tuft of hair on his head. "Will you speak for me today?" The whisper was dipped with excitement and hope, as it had been all the other days prior.


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#4
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It had never occurred to Elijah that communication was his barrier. He had been called stupid by his sister on more than one occasion, but stupid was just a word to him. It meant nothing. What mattered was the way his mother looked at him, with her odd inverse eyes, and the way her face always looked both happy and sad to see him. Simple as he was, Elijah was anything but stupid—he was just different, in his own way. Silent, observant, and even in his pretty mother’s eyes, Wrong.

She had become different since the day the monsters had come and he had spoken, and now it seemed all she wanted was to hear his voice. Though unconfident with his ability to communicate what he so vividly saw and felt within himself. His world was vastly different than that of his mother. Wide-eyed, he tilted his head at that unreal angle and closed his mouth. When it opened again, his voice (something still high and light because of his age) rolled forth. “Will you speak for me today? I can mamma,” he said, speaking slowly, carefully. “If you want.” He was not confident in this skill, and it showed.


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#5
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Word Count → 3+


He was a well-behaved boy, and she had that to thank Morrigan for. Docile and generally meek, but so simple that it pained her. Alaine, as with most others, was incapable of seeing the genius that existed within the Winters boy, deep behind that plastic smile and the mask of his father, the RavenKing Gabriel. It plucked at her heart to see such a visible connection to his father - Not enough, apparently, for any other to have made the connection but for Ezekiel and the vicious harlot Talitha. Her children remained safe, in spite of the world that railed against them for all their unnaturalness. She was the manifestation of devotion, after all, and would gladly have died for them both, in spite of the weakness of her love for the hellion Elvira.


There was still a deep ache within her, the kind that scraped ravenously at the insides of her ribs and her brittle bones. But Alaine had a deep strength, one that ran wild and pure into the earth, connected as she was by a returned faith in all that she had once known, and a new purpose in all that she now had. The pagan witch would live on, in spite of the wounds her son had inflicted with his harsh words. She would live on, because Elijah and Elvira required her, because the man she thought she loved remained a vague but constant uncertainty, and because she had much yet to teach his usurper, Badb, the man known as Ezekiel de le Poer. Perhaps one day, the care of her children would fall to him - But his shoulders were heavy with a weight unbeknownst to the Apothecary. He was destined to rule the clan to the east, in the place of his wounded sire. There was a distinct absence of his presence, but Alaine had not sent her raven companion to seek him out, fearing that she would interfere with the political mess of his family.


The boy's maw opened again, and from it flowed a voice high and sweet, and angel's voice. Uncertain, but not timid. The wilted vine of her heart pulsed with love for him, and for that voice - Elijah was an unpolished jewel, and when he shone, he shone for her alone. "Yes, my darling boy, yes," She whispered softly, ignoring the eery repetition to his tone. He had spoken, and after so many months of silence, it was a wonderful thing. "You know who else likes to hear you speak?" The colliedog filled her voice with a childish excitement, hoping to provoke some sense of normalcy from the boy. "Nana! Would you like to come see her with me?"


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#6
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There were no signs of his obvious wolfish heritage yet, for the boy was still young. He lacked the ferocity of his sister’s gaze, her feral nature. Yet he was neither docile nor stupid—simply different. Years might pass before he was understood, but the boy was learning yet what it would take. Vocalization, for one, seemed to be an easy way of pleasing his mother. Furthermore, it gave him the ability to make others understand what his body tried so desperately to communicate.

Each time his mother spoke, he saw the joy in her face and knew he had done right. She had been so sad for so long since that day with the monsters, and this sadness leeched into his heart from observation. The rise in his mother’s voice (its volume and not its tone, for he did not notice this change) made his tail wag behind him furiously. Oh, Nana he understood and Nana he loved. Mouth-wide and gaping, he let trembled all over at the idea of Nana seeing him use dog-words and not the horse ones he used around her. “Yes! I talk to Nana, mamma!” He meant this literally—he had spoken to the horse. Of course, an outsider might think him slow, repeating her words as a baby might.

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#7
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Word Count → 3+


She could see the cogs working, just barely, but was not wise enough to know that they ran far deeper into his subconscious. The Apothecary had never seen a child with the affliction of her son before - Had never even heard of one. The primitive knowledge she possessed was merely enough to note his erratic differences, his flaws and faults and unnaturalness. Perhaps a lesser mother might have shunned the child for that; They were, after all, beasts - Creature of flesh and sinew, not total civility. The urge for survival still ran in hot red blood.


But the mother still believed herself blessed. The Raven-King had given her a miracle, had allowed fertility to return to her broken body and from their union the wronglings had been created. So long had she craved such a thing, that their flaws were glossed with the love she held for them. His, most especially, for the little slate boy brought more happiness to his mother than even he knew. A bittersweet happiness, but happiness nonetheless.


The angelic chorals of his voice again reflected her own sentiment, although the cream collie was much too pleased to be hearing it again to chide him for being little more than an echo. She knew of his love for the rotund mare, Nana, and was pleased to see mention of the animal provoke such avid glee within those ever-blue and silvery eyes. "Come along then, Elijah. We will go to the stables." She rose, an elegant figure in soft cream and ivory, slimly and exotically built. A true belle, Alaine had been, before life had ravaged her.


The invitation to accompany her was not often given - Without their mother's escort, the children were confined to the Hotel grounds. Alaine had the sneaking suspicion that Elvira had already broken this rule, but Elijah would not, not knowingly. He always tried so hard to please her, to please everybody. It broke her heart to see him fail.


A coaxing smile was offered to the chubby boy, and with a fox-like grace she trotted to the cast-iron fence and slipped neatly between a gape where an iron pole was missing. The path beyond would lead them into the grassy plains, across which the stable would be visible.


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#8
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In many ways, Elijah was lucky he had been born to this woman and not another. His mannerisms and lack of development would have signaled the error in his mind and marked him as sick. More savage creatures, like his half-brother with the golden eyes, recognized this. Elijah was oblivious to such things, for he did not see himself as any different. He was too young to know, and too caught up in his fantasy world to care.

Alaine’s reinforcement of his speech had taught him that it was expected, so he would do so for her. Yet as they headed to the stables, the transformation occurred as it always did when he made it into the tall grass. Stiff-legged, the boy began to frolic and jump to and fro, tossing his head and making those odd hybrid sounds neither dog nor horse. With a white-tip to bear as a marker, he plunged into the deepest shades of green and galloped onward. This was his favorite thing, and likely always would be. When he was a stallion, he was untouchable. When he was a stallion, he was king and the world was never cruel.

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