Trigger warning: Dealing with rape aftermath (from victim’s perspective) on page, and baby drowning on page.
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Belladonna paced the room.
Two nights have passed since Alaris and her had discussed about Xinora. The Rebellion was healing, and she had sought out Ny'ka to help her with creating portals; although she knew that it might not work, just as it hadn't been working, but that was just how unpromising Channeling had been, and it had worked eventually. That wasn't the problem though. The thing was that Ny'ka was nowhere to be found. It didn't take long for her to figure out where she was.
She was with Ka'el, most likely inquiring about their recent failure.
Alaris had confirmed her suspicion, and here she was, in the room, trying not to drive herself mad with every single possibility that was crossing her mind.
The Priest had drawn a tattoo on the top part of her chest, a little distance from her neck. He had smeared it with the blood of an animal, chanted some things then told her she would be able to keep the interfering spirit at bay for a while. It was temporary and if it was broken, then nothing could be done after.
It was a relief to confirm that Xinora was an interfering Spirit, but of course, she was; being paranoid had made her think out of a logical box.
Before this temporary block would get destroyed, though, she had to find a way to get out of this realm because no matter what happened, it was almost certain that she and Alaris would have to face each other.
Belladonna didn't want that; not only was she terrified that the block against Xinora would be breaking soon, but she was also terrified that if that happened, Xinora would take complete control of her body and not kill her but suppress her in it, forcing her to the back of her mind, so that all she would be able to do was watch.
Trapped in her own body.
She had to leave this realm! Maybe Aniya would help her. Maybe that Priest in the Lycan’s realm could help her; after all, when she had seen Aniya, she seemed fine and undisturbed, alive. They had successfully pulled the Ringer out of her. Maybe that was where she had to go.
Suddenly, her head felt heavy and she had to sit down. The tattoo on her chest burnt hot, and she clawed at it as if trying to pull the gem out of her. Her eyes glowed white and she fell back, unmoving as different images flashed in her mind.
It felt like she had pulled out of her body to a different time, to a different place, wandering through different timelines rapidly until she was stopped at what felt like the beginning of everything.
There was a dagger in her belly— it wasn't hers but it felt like it was. Every emotion felt like her own; the pain, the betrayal, the death.
She saw Alaris before her as he tried to reach for the dagger once again but everything was crashing away - too fast.
Then she was stumbling into someone’s arms. The chaos of different wailings filled the air as she was plunged into darkness.
“Save my daughter, Dogori. Bring her back to me!”
Belladonna felt pulled away from that again; pulled away from that… memory? It felt like a memory.
Like a life she had lived.
Or was it?
Too many things were happening, and once again, she was in a different place.
There was a young lady with a child, standing by a lake under the moonlight; the moon was a different shade than it used to be, it was red.
Her head felt heavy again, and she took a step forward wanting to see the woman’s face.
That was her mother! That baby was her.
Her mother fell to her knees, still holding her and sobbing.
Belladonna stopped stunned. She had never seen her mother so broken, so vulnerable.
Her mother was none of that; she was hard and wicked, cruel, unfair, and unfeeling.
Was this a manipulation?
Was this real?
“Alaris?” She said even though she knew that Alaris had nothing to do with their memory. She just wanted to know if he was the one dragging her through different timelines to tell her about something; after all, he had done it before.
She heard no response and she finally said the name she dreaded to say.
“Xinora?” She heard no response and it didn't seem like her mother had heard her either.
The sound of the wave crashing filled the air. The lake was lonely, very lonely.
“I cannot keep you. I tried, I really tried. I thought I could be a good mother, I didn't want to kill my own child. I thought I could be strong for both of us but I cannot. You remind me too much of everything.” Then there was a heavy pause. “I cannot kill my daughter. I cannot kill my child. YOU ARE NOT MY CHILD. You are a mistake! You are a punishment I don't deserve.” Then more sobbing. “I’m sorry. I should never have brought you here, should have never birthed you.”
The air was filled with her silent wailings becoming even louder.
“I wanted to keep you but you have your father’s eyes. Those stupid blue EYES! He raped me.” Then she began to drown the child. “He stole my life from me! Your father killed me.”
Then she shook her head vigorously.
“But you did nothing. You are just a child, you don't deserve this. I must set you free, this is the only way. “ She threw her head back in tears. “I’m sorry. Forgive me, please. Please, forgive me. I’m just a child.” She cried even more, even louder, her tears merging with that of Baby Belladonna. “I’m just a child.”
Tears ran down Belladonna’s cheeks, her hands trembling as she reached for her aching heart and she slipped to her knees because the pain just felt too consuming for her legs to withstand.
“I’M JUST A CHILD!” Her mother’s voice echoed all around her and the sight before her blurred with how much tears filled her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” the word slipped past her trembling lips, colliding with her mother’s desperate and pleading voice of “forgive me” over and over again.
The words that made it past her own lips were, “I’m sorry,” over and over again.
It was hardly the right reaction, but that was how she felt: sorry. So terribly sorry even though she knew that this had never been her responsibility to carry. Even though she knew she was never the one to blame.
Even though she knew it was never her fault. Had her mother not said the same thing herself.
She did.
Her mother was begging for forgiveness, and she was apologizing? In what realm did that make sense?
But emotions weren't made to make sense, they were made to be felt in ways that surpassed logic and threw reasonable thinking into the depth of nothing.
“Please, forgive me.”
“I’m sorry.”