Mother of Midnight

Chapter 252 – The Guide To Parenthood

Vivienne eased herself down onto the wide garden chair with a contented sigh, her clawed fingers briefly resting on the small of her back before settling on the swell of her belly. It was heavy—gravid, impossibly so—and she had to shift her tail to the side just to sit comfortably. Even in the warm heart of spring, sunlight soaking everything in a golden glow, she felt no discomfort. Temperature had long stopped affecting her like it once did. Still, there was something profoundly pleasant about reclining beneath the sun, letting it dance across her dark skin, her long hair catching flecks of iridescent light.

Her stomach had grown impossibly fast in the past week, round and high and taut as a drum, clearly not ordinary. It jutted outward with a strange firmness—not the soft pliancy of typical pregnancies, but something dense, pressurized, as though she was incubating a star instead of a child. She suspected most people would panic at such abnormal growth. She merely caressed the shape fondly, her claw trailing the tight curve. Whatever was in there was hers—and Rava’s—and it would be beautiful.

Across the sun-dappled garden, Liora’s laughter rang out like a bell. The girl’s glossy black hair gleamed in the sunlight, bouncing as she dashed between patches of flowers and uneven stones, with Renzia trailing behind in her slow, mannequin-esque shuffle. The contrast between them was absurd and perfect. Liora would dart off to examine a beetle or scream joyfully at a butterfly, then double back to grab Renzia’s hand and drag her along with sheer determination. Renzia’s movements were stiff and awkward, but she followed diligently—always just a beat behind, a loyal warden.

She’s improving fast, Vivienne thought, watching her daughter with a pleased tilt to her head. The feedings had done wonders. Liora’s coordination had improved exponentially. She still wobbled when she ran, but it was no longer the stumble of a child recovering from trauma. It was the wild freedom of a girl finally learning to live.

Vivienne hummed softly to herself, letting the first few notes bloom into a gentle song. Her voice, layered with its eerie harmony, thrummed through the garden air like a living thing. The shadows around her shimmered, the grass dimming slightly. Then, like flowers pushing up through rich soil, crystal songbeasts began to grow—first as shards and spires, then forming into smooth, glistening shapes with elegant limbs and gemstone eyes. A few of them looked like small antelopes made of prismed glass. Another resembled a fox, its tail made entirely of refracted light.

The grass beneath them suffered—twisted and scorched from their emergence. Corven’s going to kill me for this, she thought with a smirk.

She lifted one hand and gestured lazily toward her daughter. “Go, play with her,” she purred to the crystalline creatures, her voice a command dressed as a lullaby.

The songbeasts bounded forward, delicate but quick, and Liora shrieked with delight. “Mama’s making friends again!” she yelled joyously, immediately throwing herself toward the nearest one.

Vivienne chuckled, placing both hands on her stomach as a flutter of movement stirred beneath her skin. The child—children?—within responded to her voice now. She could feel it. Them. Whatever they were. Not long now, she thought.

And in that moment, basking in sun and shadow alike, Vivienne felt something dangerously close to peace.

She clicked her tongue, annoyed with herself. Peace. She didn’t want peace. Not for herself, at least. That sort of soft, tranquil life was for others—ones who hadn’t carved themselves raw just to exist, who hadn’t torn their way through gods and monsters alike. She had always been a predator, not some lounging thing stuffed full of comfort and kindness. And yet, here she was, baking in the sun like a pampered housecat, bloated and heavy with something too powerful to be natural.

It had been several days since her last hunt. That fact alone gnawed at her nerves like an itch she couldn’t scratch. Her body, once so quick and sharp, now moved at a crawl. Not out of weakness—at least, not the kind that came from injury—but because she physically couldn’t. Every step was deliberate now. Her once-graceful stride had become a slow, swaying waddle, the sheer size of her belly forcing her balance into something awkward and unfamiliar. Worse still, her shapeshifting—one of her oldest and most relied-upon powers—had gone dormant. The child she carried was absorbing everything. Not just her strength, but her edge. Her fire. It felt like her aether didn’t belong to her anymore.

So fragile, she thought bitterly. Like a soft little beast stuck in molting.

At least she wasn’t hungry. Not truly. Rava had taken to bringing her fresh kills every couple of days—some of them still steaming, still twitching. Wild aetherbeasts, twisted creatures that might’ve been dangerous to others. Not to her. Not even now. She tore into them with claws and teeth, feeding as much for the ritual as the sustenance. Yet, despite her efforts, it felt like all that delicious, humming energy just... vanished. Swallowed down into the black hole that was her womb. Her child. Their child.

She pressed a hand to her stomach and felt another flutter—harder this time. A thud from within. They’re growing fast.

The pampering didn’t help her mood either. It was suffocating. Between Rava and her servants, she was barely allowed to breathe without someone asking if she needed water, or rest, or cushions, or a foot rub. Gods, even Corven had started getting in on it, ever so professional as he silently adjusted the manor to be more "accommodating" for her temporary state. If one more person handed her another pillow, she might throw it at their face and hiss.

I don’t want to be coddled, she thought, tail twitching with irritation. I do the coddling. I do the protecting. Not the other way around.

It was unfamiliar, this softness, and it didn’t sit right on her. Not when she knew what waited beyond the manor walls—conflict, betrayal, beasts. Not when war brewed on the horizon. Not when the weight in her belly might one day shake the world.

Vivienne shifted in the chair with a grunt and narrowed her eyes toward the distant horizon.

Let them pamper her. Let them play at peace for a little longer.

She would find her edge again soon enough.

Rava sat down on the grass beside her with a weighty thud, the earth itself seeming to give a little under her sheer bulk. The movement sent a faint tremor through the garden, rustling a few petals from nearby flowers. Vivienne smiled without looking, already recognizing the pattern of footsteps and the telltale sound of Rava’s quiet, controlled breathing.

“Hello, love,” she said softly, not bothering to hide the warmth in her voice.

“Hello,” came the expected grunt in reply.

Vivienne chuckled under her breath, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face as she shifted slightly to better face her mate. “How’d the visit with your younger brother go?”

“Fine.”

Vivienne tilted her head, one brow lifting in amusement. “Just fine?”

“Yeah.” Rava crossed her arms over her chest and stared ahead at the garden, expression unreadable. “Still won’t come over here. Says he’s not ready yet.” A pause. “But he seems to like me.”

“Well, you are very likeable.”

That earned her a look—flat, skeptical, and unimpressed.

Vivienne leaned toward her slightly, the motion causing her heavy stomach to shift. “What?” she said with a grin. “You are. Strong. Stoic. Thoughtful.”

Rava grunted again but didn’t look away this time.

“And those muscles,” Vivienne added, eyes dragging hungrily along Rava’s form. “Have I mentioned recently how much I love them?”

“You’ve mentioned it,” Rava said, voice still gruff—but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth, the hint of a smirk trying to rise.

Vivienne gave a satisfied hum. “Well, I meant it. You know I have a thing for powerful women. It’s not just your body, though gods, what a body—but also that way you carry yourself. Like you’re carved from stone but soft just for me.”

“I’m not soft.”

“No,” Vivienne agreed, reaching out and trailing a claw lightly along Rava’s arm. “Not for the world. Just for me.”

Rava didn’t respond right away. But then she let out a slow breath, and her hand—larger, rougher—reached over to rest gently atop Vivienne’s swollen stomach. Her touch was cautious, reverent.

“You do make me soft,” Rava murmured, barely above a whisper. “And I don’t mind.”

Vivienne grinned—smirked, really, with all the mischief of a cat who’d cornered a bird. “I like to think I make you hard.”

Rava barked out a laugh, rough and full of sudden amusement. “Sometimes. Sometimes.”

Vivienne giggled, eyes glinting with delight. “Good. I like both.”

They sat in easy quiet for a moment, with only the distant sound of Liora’s laughter and Renzia’s fragmented singing echoing through the garden. A breeze rustled through the hedges and carried the faint scent of warm earth and blooming flowers.

“What should we name it?” Vivienne asked, placing her hand over Rava’s where it still rested on her belly. “The child?”

Rava’s expression twitched. She looked off into the sky, frowning slightly. “It’s bad luck to name a child before they’re born.”

“Is it?” Vivienne raised a brow, genuinely curious. “Why?”

“Because… because…” Rava frowned deeper, brows drawing together. “I don’t remember. I just… feel like that’s true. It’s frustrating.”

Vivienne reached over and squeezed her hand gently. “Well, we can just ask someone. If it’s a superstition or tradition, I’m sure Corven would know. That man collects rules like some people collect tea.”

She hummed a short melodic phrase, low and rich with resonance. One of her shadow songbeasts formed in the grass beside them—small, lean, and almost playful in shape, with flickering crystal fangs and eyes like drifting moonlight. She whispered an instruction to it, and it leapt away toward the house in a flurry of dark mist.

“Gently,” she called after it. “He’s still fragile.”

“I hate having so much of my memory gone,” Rava muttered, claws flexing in the grass beside her knees.

“A small price to pay, considering you cheated death.” Vivienne leaned in, nuzzling her shoulder. “You came back to me. That’s what matters.”

“Maybe…” Rava mumbled, still visibly irritated with herself.

Corven did not so much arrive as he was delivered. The songbeast came bounding back, dragging the dignified lekine by the sleeve like an overzealous puppy presenting a gift. His boots slid through the garden path as he tried, with only moderate success, to keep his balance and composure intact.

Vivienne waved lazily as the beast deposited him before her. “Ah, excellent timing.”

Corven cleared his throat and straightened his waistcoat with stiff dignity, even as a faint line of dust marked his left sleeve. “I presume I am needed for something, Mistress?”

“Yes,” Vivienne said with a beatific smile. “Is it considered bad luck to name a child before they’re born?”

The songbeast dissolved into shadow behind him, disappearing like smoke on the breeze. Corven gave it a wary glance before adjusting his collar.

“Yes, actually,” he replied smoothly. “In many parts of the clanlands, especially among older traditions, naming a child before birth is believed to draw the attention of wayward spirits. Or worse, jealous ancestors.”

“Ooh,” Vivienne cooed, intrigued. “Jealous ancestors?”

“They say naming a child before it breathes its first is akin to promising something you don’t yet own,” he explained. “The spirits consider it presumptuous. Some families wait up to three days after birth, to be safe.”

Vivienne blinked slowly. “That is fascinating.”

“I think it’s stupid,” Rava muttered, though her frown had softened.

Corven coughed delicately. “It is, of course, merely a custom. Many modern families choose names in advance without incident.”

Vivienne looked up at Rava. “Well, I suppose we could wait.”

Rava nodded once. “But I already have a name I like.”

Vivienne’s eyes lit up. “You do? You’ve been holding out on me!”

Rava only smirked. “Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

Vivienne clutched her chest theatrically. “You’re going to make me explode from suspense.”

Corven, ever tactful, bowed. “Will that be all, Mistress?”

Vivienne smiled sweetly. “Yes, thank you. You’re dismissed.”

The lekine gave her a polite nod, threw one last suspicious glance at the grass where the summon had vanished, and retreated toward the manor.

Once he was gone, Vivienne turned back to Rava with a sly grin. “So… you’ll tell me later?”

“Later,” Rava confirmed, one claw tracing lazy circles on Vivienne’s swollen belly. “When I’m sure.”

Vivienne purred. “You tease.”

“Mommy!” came the bright, eager cry of a child, high-pitched and bubbling with excitement.

Vivienne turned her head just in time to see Liora bounding across the garden like a comet of black hair and pure energy. “Look what I found!”

She was clutching something in her small hands—something round and shiny, though it was hard to tell what exactly it was from a distance. Vivienne leaned forward slightly in her chair, squinting, her curiosity piqued. But before she could get a proper look, Liora’s foot caught on a stray root or uneven bit of grass. Her eyes went wide and she toppled forward, landing with a soft thump right on her stomach.

Vivienne jolted, her breath catching in her throat.

“Are you okay, my little baby?” she called out, her voice laced with concern but not panic.

There was a tense heartbeat of silence… then a giggle. Liora pushed herself up with grass-stained palms, still grinning, her knees and the front of her dress now streaked in vibrant green. She held up the object again triumphantly—some kind of smooth garden stone, glinting faintly with a vein of silver through its middle.

“I’m okay!” she chirped proudly. “I’m dirty now though…”

Vivienne laughed softly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “You’re always dirty, sweetheart. It means you’re having fun.”

Rava let out a low grunt of agreement beside her and Renzia, deciding that Liora was being looked after, seemed to wander the garden at a more leisurely pace.

Vivienne stretched her arms out with a dramatic sigh. “Well then! Come here, my filthy little troublemaker. Want to give mommy some cuddles?”

Liora’s eyes lit up. “Yes!” She dropped the shiny stone and practically launched herself into Vivienne’s lap, tiny arms wrapping around her mother’s neck as best she could with the belly between them.

Vivienne let out a delighted mmph as the weight of her daughter settled against her. “Ugh, you’re covered in grass, and now I’m covered in grass,” she teased, kissing the top of Liora’s head repeatedly.

“That’s okay,” Liora mumbled into her chest. “You said you liked the garden.”

“I do. But I like you more.” Vivienne pressed a soft kiss to the top of Liora’s head, cradling her little girl close. “You’re going to be a big sister soon. Are you excited?”

Liora nodded with the kind of fervor only a child could manage, her curls bouncing. “I’m going to be the best big sister. Because I look like mommy.”

Vivienne tilted her head, amused. “Oh? And does looking like me make you a better big sister?”

“Yup!” Liora puffed up her chest proudly. “If I look like you, that means I can be nice and scary and strong too.”

Vivienne chuckled at that, genuinely delighted. “You’re already all of those things, sweetheart. Maybe a little more cute than scary, though.”

Liora grinned, undeterred. “I wonder what they’ll look like. Will they look like me?”

Vivienne ran her claws gently through Liora’s hair, letting out a thoughtful hum. “Hmm. I don’t know. This one feels… different. Not in a bad way. Just not the same as you. So maybe they’ll look very different.”

“Like a goblin?” Liora asked seriously.

Vivienne laughed. “Maybe! Or maybe they’ll have red scales. Or five arms. Or a tail like mine. It’s a surprise until they come out.”

Liora’s eyes widened with wonder. “That’s so cool! I hope they have horns! Big twisty ones.”

“Oh, good taste,” Vivienne said, grinning. “If they have horns, I’ll be very proud.”

Liora looked up at her with a concerned frown suddenly. “Do you need food or something?”

Vivienne’s smile softened as she pulled Liora in tighter against her chest. “No, mijita. Thank you for asking. Just having you close is enough.”

Liora snuggled in without another word, sighing happily.

Rava, who had been watching in silence, let out a small exhale, her lips quirking upward in a rare, gentle smile.

“You know,” Vivienne said slyly, her tone light and teasing as she stroked her belly, “maybe Aunty Rava could do with a hug too?”

Beside her, Rava’s smile vanished like someone had flipped a switch. Her back straightened, her jaw clenched slightly, and her eyes darted to Vivienne in the sort of quiet panic only a warrior could conceal halfway well. Vivienne, of course, noticed all of it.

Liora turned toward her. “Can I give you a hug?” she asked, peering up at the towering woman already seated beside her mother.

Rava blinked, clearly caught off guard. “I… guess,” she said, voice uncertain but not unkind.

Vivienne smirked and leaned in a little. “No need to sound so reluctant. She’s not going to bite.”

“I might,” Liora said cheerfully, already crawling into Rava’s lap without waiting for further permission. Her arms wrapped tightly around Rava’s middle. “But only a little.”

Rava looked like someone trying to navigate a battlefield blindfolded—unsure of the terrain, trying not to move too fast or too wrong. But she rested a large hand on Liora’s back, slow and careful. Not stiff, exactly—just deliberate, like the motion was something she was still learning how to do.

Vivienne grinned. “You know, if we do go through with the whole marriage thing—bonding ritual or whatever you call it in your clan—you won’t be Aunty Rava anymore.”

Rava raised an eyebrow without looking away from Liora. “…I won’t?”

“Nope. You’ll be Mama Rava.”

Rava’s head finally turned toward her, eyes wide. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“You’re already doing it, sweetheart,” Vivienne said warmly, brushing her tail against Rava’s side. “Look at you. You’re being cuddled.”

“I am being ambushed,” Rava muttered, though she didn’t move to push Liora away.

Liora looked up, her cheek smooshed warmly against Rava’s side. “I get two mommies?”

“If Rava is okay with it,” Vivienne said gently, resting one hand on her swollen belly, the other brushing through Liora’s thick hair.

Liora pulled back, tipping her head up to peer at Rava with the most devastatingly hopeful expression she could muster. Puppy dog eyes—if the puppy in question had five gleaming black eyes, skin like polished obsidian, and a smile full of too many teeth. A nightmare wearing innocence like a party hat.

Rava hesitated, her jaw tightening for a moment. “I guess. Yeah. Makes sense.”

Vivienne’s smile faded just a little. Her eyes narrowed, not out of anger, but sharp scrutiny. “You can do better than that.”

Her tone wasn’t cold, but it was unmistakably firm. You and I might be something special, her look said, but she comes first. Always.

Rava blinked at her, registering the shift. She glanced down at Liora, who was still watching her with all the patience of a coiled spring and all the trust of a child who wanted to belong. Slowly, something softened in Rava’s features. The tension eased from her shoulders.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “This is all new to me.”

“That’s okay!” Liora chirped brightly, utterly undeterred. “I can teach you how to be a good mommy!”

Rava blinked at her in surprise, and Vivienne’s smirk returned full force.

“Oh? You can, can you?” she said, resting a clawed hand dramatically on her chest. “And what does it take to be a good mommy, hm?”

“Well,” Liora said, tapping her chin with one claw-tipped finger, “You gotta give hugs. And kiss. And hold hands. And and—oh! You also gotta say you love me. A lot. Like, a lot a lot.”

Vivienne nodded, solemnly. “She’s right. Those are the rules. No exceptions.”

Rava exhaled slowly, then reached over and scooped Liora into her lap with surprising tenderness for someone so massive. “That sounds… doable,” she said, voice quiet. Then, after a beat: “I love you.”

Liora squealed and squished her face into Rava’s chest. “I love you too, Mama!”

Vivienne’s eyes misted as she watched the two of them. Her family. Her strange, monstrous, beautiful family.

Corven burst from the manor doors, breathless and wild-eyed, the crisp parchment of a sealed scroll clenched tightly in his gloved hand. His boots thudded against the stone with undignified urgency as he weaved around hedges and decorative lanterns, nearly colliding with a sunbathing shadowbeast in the garden path.

“Mistress!” he called, voice sharp and too loud for the peaceful spring air. “Urgent message from the High Fang herself!”

Vivienne didn’t rise. Her tail flicked lazily beside her, and a faint frown creased her brow as Corven stumbled to a halt before her and composed himself with hurried fussing,straightening his collar, fixing the fold of his sleeves, and clearing his throat with unnecessary formality.

She extended one clawed hand toward him without a word.

Corven, properly chastened now, stepped forward and laid the scroll in her palm like a sacred offering. “Sealed with her personal sigil,” he added quickly. “I thought it best not to open it.”

“You do have a brain, then,” Vivienne murmured, her tone somewhere between amused and exhausted. With a flick of her claw, the wax seal snapped cleanly. She unfurled the parchment carefully, eyes flicking across the lines with swift familiarity.

Rava, who had been dozing in the grass beside her, stirred slightly at the change in Vivienne’s expression—an exhale that wasn’t quite a sigh, lips pressing together in frustration, her claws tapping once against the armrest.

She closed the scroll with deliberate slowness.

“Serkoth,” she said finally, voice low, “is about to be besieged.”