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The Lord and Lady Ayorin did not speak of what had happenned to anyone except the attendants who had heard the woman themselves. But there were whispers. Rumors.
Some had heard that the great sorceress Moren was the reason this child was being born and that she was finally going to appear, after ten long years of seclusion, to claim this child's soul. Others had heard that the Lord and Lady were giving birth to a monster born out of death magic. Still others had heard of Lady Ayorin's madness, that she would rant and rave, unable to be consoled. They had heard that she hated her own child, afraid it was a gift from below.
A large crowd had gathered in the great open area at the entrance to the Lord's home. A balcony rose above the area and two grand staircases that wrapped around either side of the room connected it to the first floor. The walls held large windows curtained in red velvet and large paintings of beautiful scenes. The floors were marble flecked with gold, as were the stairs. A golden bannister ran down the outer edge of each staircase. Affluence dripped from every corner of the room.
The crowd was growing impatient. The child's cries had been heard echoing through the house and they now longed to see the child. Of course, the wait was caused by Lady Ayorin, who did not want to appear before the group until she looked presentable.
Lord Ayorin arrived on the balcony first, his face beaming with joy. In his arms, wrapped in a yellow blanket, was the squirming newborn. Those who had heard that the child would be a hideous monster craned their necks to see her, but they were dissapointed. The new father held a healthy, normal child in his arms. He raised her up and pushed away the blanket so that everyone could see her face.
A few moments later, Lady Ayorin came out from the large double doors behind her husband and stood at his side. The members of the crowd who had heard that she was mad pushed ahead and muttered amongst themselves. She looked flushed and tired, but smiled radiantly. Her husband leaned towards her, his eyes filled with concern as he remembered the awful sounds she made, "Are you alright, Sirelle?"
Sirelle took a deep breath and smiled faintly, "Look at all these people, Merric. It's like our lives are some kind of freakshow."
"But you ignored my question-"
Lady Ayorin gave a bright smile and a wave, which brought cheers from the crowd below. The small family walked down one of the staircases, the wife leaning on her husband's arm. Everyone talked amongst themselves about how beautiful they looked and how the rumors must not have been true. The only ones who were not satisfied were the wizards, sorcerers, mystics and magicians who were keeping to the fringes of the herd, keeping an eye out for any sign of the last rumor coming true.
One by one the people presented the new family with whatever gifts or well wishes they had to offer. The wealthy guests were competing with each other over who could give the most lavish gift. A pile of beautiful things began to grow beside the parents, most of which were of no use to an infant. Reams of silk and gold cloth, jewel-coloured vases handpainted by fairies, spices from faraway lands and a diamond necklace far too extravagant for the child to wear for several more years was received with awe.
Those who were not so well endowed were offering useful gifts but were competing over who could offer the most exhaustive sentiment. They complimented the couple's beauty, grace, dignity, and health, and wished the baby charm, intelligence, wisdom, and a long life.
After a few hours of this, those of the magical persuasion began to give up hope that their rumor was true. They each presented a gift and competed with each other over who could present the most elaborate object. A wizard gave a toy bird that could actually fly and spouted bursts of coloured light. A magician displayed a rattle which would play entire symphonies when shook instead of an irritating clatter.
The room was filled with wonder and laughter as each enchantment was conjured. Each shimmering toy and burst of magic lit up the gold, jewels, and pretty words the others had offered. Having sat in one place for so long, the parents were tired and the baby was cranky, but when the magic show began, a warm happiness began to fill the room again.
A beautiful young magician waved her hands through the air as a miniature ballerina spun and twirled across the floor. A sweet tune tinkled in the air, seeming to come from nowhere as her dainty arms arched above her head and her rosy face beamed. She was about to finish her piece, her tutu fluttering above her pink tights, when the front double doors burst open.
An icy cold wind slammed intot he room, snuffing out every candle and chilling every heart. A handful of women cried out in shock and those guests who were warriors sprung to defense.
Lord Ayorin rose from his seat and called for the doors to be closed. his wife clutched Mon-Clarisse to her chest and began weeping and calling out in fear. The baby shrieked from being held so tight and the tiny dancer fell limp on the floor.
"Close those doors!" Merric commanded as he pushed his way through the crowd. Several men were on each of the double doors, pushing against them as hard as they could.
"We can't, sir!" They shouted over the roar of the wind, "The wind is too powerful!"
"Try harder!" the Lord bellowed as he emerged from the throng of people. He rushed to join them, bracing himself against the thick oak and grunting with force. Several strong men from the crowd hurried to help him.
Above the noise of the men pushing as hard as they could, a thin high screech was heard. It grew louder and louder as the doors were being shut. Those merely standing by began to draw back from the doorway and huddle together in silence and fear. The newborn was the only one whose cries grew louder to match that of the sound.
Words began to emerge from the scream, as well as booming steps. Cries of rage and hatred tore themselves out of a woman's throat.
The doors were only a few inches from being closed, but through the crack, Sirelle could see the thing she feared most. An angry sorceress was throwing herself toward her home. The mother's pupils grew small and her eyes widened. The people, parting to get away from the door, had created a direct path between the door and herself - but more importantly, between Moren and Mon-Clarisse.
The doors were almost closed when an even stronger gust of wind flung them open again. The men were thrown through the air and slid along the floor. Merric's head struck the stairs and those around him struggled to bring him back to consciousness.
In the doorway stood the sorceress, fighting against the hand of a demon who held her soul. An immaterial ink black fist closed itself around her heart, with wraithlike tendrils grasping onto her limbs like wet strips of cloth. She swiped at the ethereal fingers of the death that awaited her but her hands would only pass through them. With all of her power and strength she pushed herself forward against Sistries' grip.
Her flawless skin now showed hollow cheeks and wrinkled, drooping skin. Her delicate curls were a wild shag tearing through the wind and rapidly turning grey. She hurled her body against the large, grotesque arm that had her in its grip. Every inch she gained towards the child and her mother was costing Moren her strength, beauty, and youth. "You!" She yelled with an unearthly sound. "Give me what is mine!"
She lunged into the room, falling facedown on the floor and crawling on her hands. "You are leaving me to die in this horrible curse if you do not give me what is mine!" Her bony hands grasped forward and she struggled to her feet again. "Give me the child!" The voice that once rang silky smooth was hollow and raspy now. "Give me Mon-Clarisse!"
"No!" shouted her father as he struggled to his feet, a hand on his head. "You will not have our child!"
"She is mine! Give her to me!" Her gnarled fingers pulled on the threads of mortality that held her back and her thinning legs thrust forward on the marble floors, gaining ground even though each foot slid back several inches with each step. "You are thieves! Do you see what you have brought me to!" Lord Ayorin rushed to stand between his family and the woman, but a mere glance from her frantic, bloodshot eyes caused a gust of wind to fling him out of her path. He scrambled to stand beside his wife who clutched Mon-Clarisse so tightly that her nails drew blood on the baby's skin.
"You will not have her!" Merric cried bravely. Moren dove towards the family and landed several feet short. She crawled on her knees, her nails scraping against the marble as the hand impassively held her back. The closer she got, the harder the wind blew into the room. The curtains were ripped from their posts and the people could hardly move without flying across the room.
No more strength left for threats and demands, she bit her thinning lip with what teeth were left and stretched out a hand toward the child. Lord Ayorin held an arm across his wife as the wind pushed them back against the wall beneath the balcony. The airy gusts whipped the now-white tangles of Moren's hair around her head. Her eyes bulged. The skin pulled tight around her head, revealing the outline of her skull. Her teeth fell out one by one as her hand stretched inches from the baby's heel.
Lord Ayorin fought against the wind and tried to place his body in between the woman and his child, but a contract of such means cannot be broken. He could not stop his child's soul from being taken, and Moren could not stop herself from dying.
With bones now protruding where the skin was wearing thin and nails now thick and black, the sorceress' fingertips brushed the child's foot. Her fight relaxing for an instant, the hand ripped her back. A twisted howl escaped her lungs and she held on to the ground. Her nails dug turrets in the marble as her shriek continued, "You have brought me to this, Sirelle!" The woman screamed. "Your child will grow up happily until she is sixteen. On that day, her soul will be broken. It will fall asleep," She drew a ragged breath as she was pulled back to the doorway, clinging to the frame. "Mon-Clarisse," she spat as her body heaved between words. "Will wish," the remaining skin on her body had become a molting grey wrapped around a skeleton. "She had never," one arm was torn off the doorway and the other could be heard tearing and breaking as it clung to the doorpost, "been born."
With a final lurch and a last gust of wind, the powerful sorceress Moren was pulled from the Ayorin's home and from this world. The doors slammed shut behind her and the candles relit themselves. The room was still and quiet - even the child had stopped crying. But nothing was as before and it never would be again.
Just kidding.
