Where mere moments before, the senate room was bursting full of people, and chatter echoed relentlessly off the glistening walls, it now stood empty. That was, not including the two lone figures in the middle of it all, each cradling infants in their arms. They stood under the base of twin pillars, carved so delicately full of every design from gothic spikes, to blooming flowers to hands reaching out to the void. The two women stood, as still as the statues lining the walls, connected by a bond more than blood. Meeting each other’s gaze; the galvanic green and a colour that could only impossibly be described as black. All while the babies slept peacefully in their arms, so unaware of the current chaos they were living through. In the long stretching days before this very moment, the sound of screams, crashes and explosions could always be heard from the senate room as the innocents hid for their lives. But it was all silent now, an eerie silence that only amplified the true solace of the two women. Finally, one of them, the younger one, spoke.
“How will we know if it worked?” She asked her sister tentatively, glancing
out towards the doorway of the Curia, where she had just witnessed hundreds of people walk out of. For the first time in a long time, she saw her sister smile, brushing her solar blonde hair from her face in a restless way.
“Don’t sell me short, okay? I’m pretty powerful. I think it’s ok if we have faith for once.”
“I know you are,” the first woman continued, looking away from her sister and instead focusing on the sleeping baby swaddled in her arms. “I’m just confused about what this means for the lunar war--or the war of the free, for your people. I mean, does this mean we let them win?”
“This isn’t a win or loss, Abigail,” the older woman explained, stepping closer to her. “This is a pause. A pause to stall the war and keep the rest of my people safe until…she’s old enough to end all this.” She explained, now looking down at her child. No more than a week old, she was almost a blank slate, a perfect canvas for the world to paint upon, apart from the small white birthmark on her neck, which spiralled like the grooves of a seashell. It was her mark, her signal to the universe of who she was bound to be.
“You seem so sure,” Abigail remarked, watching the mother and daughter embrace in the dim light. “You didn’t even have to prove to everyone that she was, well,”
“What, the ‘chosen one’?” she laughed lightly, a sound that recaptured her youth, something that had been stripped away from her by the gruelling battles and rebellion. “You never really understood our practices, did you?”
“It’s just that, you never seemed to believe in the whole prophetic skies stuff until you had her.” Abigail hurriedly explained herself, while rocking the baby in her arms to keep him peaceful.
“I wish I could explain it to you, but it’s just a feeling, a res feeling. I knew she was special from her first breath, and I’m not just saying that as her mother, of course. Her scar, her power, just everything about her tells us that she is the one the stars have predicted for centuries, all the way back to the beginning.”
Abigail nodded slowly, not entirely understanding but trusting her sister’s judgment. But her sister continued,
“...but unfortunately, I won’t get to see if those predictions are right. I’ve made a change in plans.”
“A change? Le--Charlotte, what are you talking about?” Abigail inquired, her eyebrows raised with concern.
“I’ve only just decided,” Charlotte confessed. “But I’m going to talk…to the Abbadon.”
“You know there’s no point in that, he’s far beyond reasoning with,” Abigail immediately cut in, though she had a feeling of what her sister was trying to say based on the look in her eyes.
“What I actually meant was…well, listen, Abby, I know that this whole war started because of me,”
“It’s not your fault,” Abigail interrupted her, speaking firmly.
“I know that, but listen to me, I’ve just felt like, you’re right, we can never be too sure that what we did was enough to hold Abaddon and his army off. I think the only way I can ensure the war is put on hold is if I turn myself in.” Charlotte finished her sentence in haste, wanting to get these words out of her system so the pain of saying them would be over with. But it still hurt to see the shocked and scared look on her little sister’s face.
“Charlotte--you can’t be--that’s suicide!” She cried out.
“Suicide is a little dramatic, Abby,” Charlotte tried to reason, “Even after all of this, I’m sure he won’t kill me.”
“Maybe not, but you’ll be good as dead,” Abigail said, still adamant that her sister was making a grave mistake. “I’ve seen firsthand the kind of stuff he does or has ordered on his behalf, Charlotte, they mess with your mind, they’ll make you a shell of everything you once were. It’s just in their nature, as well as mine.” Abigail was growing more frantic by the second at this news, pacing around the Curia and every so often staring out the door everyone had just left through.
“I—I can’t let you do it, Charlotte, I won’t,” Abigail affirmed, now staring her sister down with defiance clear on her visage. “You told me that family helps family, and I’m going to help you. We’ll find another way through this.”
“We may be family,” Charlotte began to say, remaining calm while her sister decomposed into anxiety. She, in contrast, remained rooted to the spot. “But so is she. And she is more important than anything I can offer. My only hope now is to make sure he doesn’t find out about her, or else everything we have just sacrificed will be for absolutely nothing.”
Both of them once again looked down at the infant Charlotte was carrying. How could someone so tiny already yield this much significance?
“…so, you’re abandoning her?” Abigail asked after a long pause.
“I’m sacrificing my livelihood for her, I’m making myself the lamb so he…Abaddon never realizes she exists. I’m letting her have a hopefully normal childhood before she has to be dragged back into this bloody, murdering war. If that’s what you think is abandoning, then go ahead.” She did not sound angry, she rarely ever was. She was calm and collected, so mature for her age it was almost frightening how fast she was forced to grow up. Abigail just stared at her for a few moments, unsure of what to say.
“Listen to me closely,” Charlotte continued, slowly striding over to close the gap between them. “Please, take her far, far away from here. Watch her, and one day, when she’s old enough, explain everything to her. I know it’s so much to ask, but please just, tell her how much I love her, and how I cannot wait to see her again one day.” And with that, Abigail opened her arms, and the child was passed into her arms. The baby sensed the commotion and slowly opened her eyes, the same exact shade of black as her mother. Those round black eyes reflected everything, from the golden carved ceiling to the warm candlelight, to her mother’s face. With her tiny hands, she reached for her, but Charlotte knew no matter how hard she held on, she would have to let go eventually.
“I promise,” Abigail said quietly, and Charlotte nodded in return, beaming a sad smile. The two looked at each other for a moment, so much unsaid in what could possibly be their final conversation.
“And what about him?” Abigail finally asked, referring to the older, blond baby nestled in her left arm.
“For the sake of their safety, you need to split them up. But I’m sure she’ll find him again one day, along with the rest of us.” They both watched as Charlotte’s daughter reached toward him, finding her new target of affection. There was more silence. They knew the only thing left to do was to depart, but none of them dared to be the first to say goodbye. It was finally Charlotte who caved.
“Time is slipping away,” she stated simply, looking down at her watch laden with star maps and celestial orbits.
“I know,” Abigail replied, thinking less about the present moment, and more about how much the two of them had grown in the past few years, even in the past few months.
“Look, Charlotte, maybe we should--” she tried one last time to change Charlotte’s mind but was once again silenced by the look on her pale face.
“Just take care of her, and yourself, for me.” Suddenly, Charlotte was hugging her, and although Abigail could not return the embrace, she dug her face into her sister’s shoulder momentarily, wishing it would last forever.
Charlotte then looked down at her daughter one last time, barely being able to pull her eyes away. The baby’s face was scrunched up with a toothless grin, which is just how Charlotte wanted to see her. Her last words to her were in a voice as soft as a lullaby.
“My beautiful Lainey, my girl written in the stars. Shine like the little ball of light you are,”
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