You Shall Be Loved

"Obsession and passion are the two extremities of love; they should never cross paths."

YOU SHALL BE LOVED

This was her fifth child, and her first living birth.

Magdalene had a history like none other: Orphaned at the age of three, raped twice by the age of twelve, sold to a whorehouse at the age of fourteen, taken under the care of Hiya Mahir - a lady preferring girls of fifteen, gifted to Sir Amox the Goldenknight at the age of eighteen, and married to Prince Edmund at the age of twenty.

At the age of thirty-one, she became the Queen.

And now, at the age of forty-two, she had become a Mother.

The birthing room was a white sphere, with an extended balcony jutting out. The giant bed stood in the middle of the room, covered in white sheets and feather-soft pillows. Flimsy white curtains, frail as a dragonfly's wings, veiled the bed from the cold. The crib lay right beside the bed, in easy reach of the Mother. Tall doors stood wide open on either side, letting in silvery light of dawn and thick fog of winter through the balcony.

Magdalene lay in bed, trembling. Not from the cold seeping through her silk nightdress - she was trembling from fear. Fear of what the maids would say when they saw the baby; fear of what they would go and tell the King; fear of what the King would do once he found he was informed the truth; fear of what the Kingdom would say, of what the Subjects would do when they found out about her child, of what whispers the wind would blow in through the palace gates ...

Magdalene was so afraid.

Truly, the only thing that kept her from falling apart in this white-washed dome, was the child in the crib. Magdalene rolled over to the side of the bed, the soft fabric caressing her bare back, and leaned forward to look down into the crib, at her first living son.

There he lay, white as snow and cold as death. His skin was rough to touch, like the spine of a lizard, and cracked like parched land; the veins were red and swirly and very much visible through his icy skin. Not a single strand of hair donned his round little head, not a beat sounding through his chest. His eyes were frozen shut, not a movement behind the closed lids. Yet his nostrils flared ever so slightly, every now and then, as he inhaled the fog, and let out a cloud of his own. Magdalene should probably have pulled a blanket over his naked body, but, at the last moment, she changed her mind. She wanted to look at her son, unblemished, for as long as she could, without any covering or shadows blurring the way. The child seemed oblivious to the constant stare, as he slept peacefully without ever moving a muscle.

Some would claim it was another still-born, that the child was long-gone, already.

But Magdalene could never bring herself to think that way. There was no possible way that this child, too, would join in with his brothers and sisters to an infant's grave. This boy was alive and well, and Magdalene pledged she'd die trying to keep it that way. Her first-born son ...

What would the King say?

What would the maids say?

What would the people say?

The only person Magdalene was certain would never utter a word about this to anyone, was her midwife, Meera. Meera was quite young for her age, fair of skin and blond of hair, with eyes that begged to be looked deep into, and a mouth waiting to be kissed. As soon as Magdalene saw her, she knew that the girl would go places. Such beauty cannot stay hidden for long. However, when she saw Meera's expression while cradling her beautiful baby in her arms, she realized that she would have to take matters into her own hands; the poor girl would not go places, after all.

Perhaps, Magdalene thought, at this very moment, the girl's floating down the rushes of the BloodRiver, her neck slit in a gash. What better way to ensure one's silence for eternity besides Death?

Queen Magdalene smiled to herself, letting the worries slip away. She would take care of the other intruders the way she had for the young girl. She would fill the BloodRiver with bodies, up and down the stream, if that was what it took to keep her child to herself. Her first-born son ...

Magdalene leaned down, and kissed the baby on its white venous temple. His skin froze her mouth, yet the smile lingered on her lips.

"You are David," crooned Magdalene into her son's frigid ears. "And you are mine. You are my son, and I shall keep you safe. No matter what." She rubbed her knuckle down the bloodless cheeks of her child. "You shall always be loved, David. Always."

Prince David's lashes fluttered in his sleep.

*  *  *

 

Author's Note

This story isn't really one that I planned. I was browsing through scary wallpapers (you know, just regular stuff), and came across this little cutie. It creeped me out, and at the same time, planted the seedling of a very short story in my mind. Thought I'd share it with you. Suggestions would be most welcome.

Reviews

[alifeacoustic]

As you said in the by-line, Obsession and passion are the two extremities of love; they should never cross paths. This is both heart-breaking and beautiful. The complexities of love, like the mind, don't come with rule books and what might seem off the beaten track to some, is perfectly reasonable to another.
A life fraught with the damage of others from a young age, would give Magdalene a warped view of the world to begin with, which is most probably described as realistic, but her longing for a child overtakes her mind and obsession and passion mingle a dangerous cocktail.
This is probably the only story I will ever describe as enthralling, but enthralling it was. I think the darkness of the tale helped draw the reader in and I say to you, bravo.

[Sally Hope]

Thank you so, so much for that wonderful review. It does mean a lot. And, like I've already said before, this story was a spur of the moment, not at all planned. But the picture (that baby visited my nightmares for quite a few days) held just too much to not tell. Thanks again for the amazing review.

[alifeacoustic]

You're welcome. Spur of the moment writes usually end up surprising both the reader and the writer.

[Sally Hope]

Reminds me of a poem about some acrostics I read a while back ... Can't remember clearly. It was said to be written in sleep-deprived state. You should check it out *SmugGrin*

[alifeacoustic]

Ha, I think I might have stumbled across that one too :)

[Sally Hope]

Nice little piece, eh? (Ignore the 'eh'; I don't know why I started talking like a cowboy). Hope you reviewed it. The poor guy had written it in a very precarious stage, you know (I hear he talks to his xbox like a little purple minion, at times. *LordSaveHim*)

[alifeacoustic]

:)
I heard that too, but the medication seems to be working now :)

[Sally Hope]

How would YOU know that, for sure? Don't believe in rumors, dude, NEVER believe in rumors.
PS: What's the medication, by the way? And IS there any medication that stops you from talking to your xbox, or, behaving like a minion, or, you know, stops us from being weird as we are? Just wondering.

[alifeacoustic]

It's called F*ckitol and it works a treat. It actually is the cause of xbox talking and minion speak, but I have grown to live with that aspect of my life. Hardly anyone notices, except when I go near bananas in the supermarket.

[Sally Hope]

Googled the medication. 1 billion results in 0.67 seconds! Who knew, right? Just need to see which drugstore sells it. I have to be careful about the side-effects, though. They sound kinda deadly.

[alifeacoustic]

Yes, especially the minion/banana one. Bananas are like minion crack. :)

[Sally Hope]

Minions turn SCARY when they are faced with bananas. "Me Want Banana," "Me Want Banana,"... Now I'm feeling nostalgic; need to rewatch Despicable Me.

[alifeacoustic]

Yes, watch both...and the minion movie too.

[Sally Hope]

The "Minion Movie" has not been recommended by my animation-freak friend. She said it was BAD.

[alifeacoustic]

Oh, it was, but it has one plus point in that you get to learn more minion talk in it.

[Sally Hope]

Ah, yes. That movie must be specially close to your heart, considering your fascination with bananas, xbox, and minion-talk. Inspiration comes from such myriad places.

[Tomoe Tellez]

I don't know what others think about my opinion, but I think it's a sweet story of motherly love, and I believe there's nothing more beautiful then this kind of love, no matter how dark the story got as it progressed. You have a great way of describing three persons so well and complete in just a few paragraphs. Like this line: "Meera was quite young for her age, fair of skin and blond of hair, with eyes that begged to be looked deep into, and a mouth waiting to be kissed." You describe personality and her appearance in one sentence. As dark as it is, I really liked this story.

[Sally Hope]

Thanks for taking the time to read this, Alondra. I, too, believe that motherly love is the highest form of love, and no matter how twisted the plot went from there, this story, at its heart, is about a mother trying to save her child. I'm glad that you liked it.

[BlaqkShadow]

The description in this story is staggering, I can feel the cold seeping into the words. Beautifully imagined and written and incredibly, wonderfully weird! I almost wish it was longer but it's perfect the way it is, A*. X

[Sally Hope]

I loved that you thought it was wonderfully weird, because after writing this, I'd stared at it for a whole minute, wondering: What the hell have I written? What's WRONG with me?! But I decided to share it, anyway, and I'm so glad you liked it. Thanks, BlaqkShadow :)

[Coyote Poetry]

A well written story. I like how you us the description. Giving this woman history and strength. I like her thoughts and the ending. You create hard and cold world. Also strong and wise woman. Thank you for sharing the outstanding story. I wanted to read more.
Coyote

[Sally Hope]

It's good to hear that you wanted to read more. Maybe someday, I'll extend this.

[Coyote Poetry]

The story was powerful and a worthwhile read.