Title: Chrona's Lullaby
Summary: Any and all maternal ties that the Woman had for it were cut when the umbilical cord was.
Disclaimer: I own neither Soul Eater, nor the song Mordred's Lullaby By Heather Dale.
Sweat drenches her face and it flows down her flushed skin like a river. She takes a deep breath and pushespushespushes. The bottom half of her body has gone, nearly, but not quite, numb with the extreme pain she feels. Inhale. Push—exhale. She rips at the grass, her nails sinking into the soil uprooting the plants. She makes no sound despite the agony she feels having a child claw its way from her womb. Her head falls back but grits her teeth, producing a low grunt. Her body trembles, and as a shrill cry enters the world, she goes limp, and fades into the dark.
The world returns to her slowly, the light of the sun sleeping through the trees that hang over head. She looks up wonders how she got there before she hears the faint of whimper of an infant. She sits up carefully, noticing the absent feeling of her body, she feels mild loneliness. She looks at the little mass of life between her legs, covered afterbirth and her own blood. She picks up the child to identify its gender. A girl… No, there's a vein, a boy…But no... There's nothing there, a girl?
"I have no name for you, child,"
The infant whimpers more, as the Woman cuts the umbilical cord, the last thing that tethers the child to her body, her soul.
The child cry's out as if she can sense this change. The Woman rocks the baby, humming to her quietly.
Hush, child, the darkness will rise from the deep and carry you down into sleep.
The Woman learns early on that the baby will not learn that crying will get it nowhere. She hisses and screams for it—and she does call the baby it because she still has no name for the thing—to stop. But it doesn't because it can't possibly know what kind of thin ice it's treading on so early in their relationship, unfortunately for it, she is incapable of understand that.
"Silence you insolent child!" She screams, but this only creates louder crying from the child.
"What is it you need?!" She cups her ears and sings loudly to drown out the sound of its shrieking. She notices after a few minutes that the child has stopped at the sound of her voice.
And She learns.
She walks to the make shift cradle and gentles coos to the child.
Guileless son, I'll shape your belief.
Its first word is daddy. Where it learned that word, the Woman will never know, but she hisses as a response, then grabs a chunk of the fine hair on the baby's head and pulls until its roots give and She screams at It to never, ever say that word again.
And you'll always know that your father's a thief.
When it calls her mommy, she pulls even harder.
She'd had the idea for a while, but never, not even for a second, thought it would come to full fruition.
And he'd been so easy to trick, it was almost too easy; the way he'd so eagerly licked his lips with his too big tongue when she slowly took off her clothes, the way his eyes followed her every movement, mesmerized by her hands, her hips, her mouth. He barely noticed the taste of the tonic She'd given him, ignored the tingle as his senses dwindled into nothingness while his hands clumsily running over her body.
The next few days are filled with screams.
At first, She wants to put the Black Blood inside of herself, then after some research, she decides to give the thing a purpose.
He screams, spewing out as many threats and calling her as many profane things he can think of, but never begging for mercy. She admires this.
It, on the other hand, screams, begs, as the molten substance is pumped into it. She despises this.
Yes, too easy indeed.
And you won't understand the cause of your grief.
The Demon Sword beats the Child hard and often. The Woman can't help but feel a sense of mutual satisfaction and anger at this act.
She, finally, names it Crona, because it doesn't deserve a name of its own.
But you'll always follow the voices beneath.
Thought five years have gone by since it crawled out of Her, but it still doesn't understand the price of disobedience. She grabs its little wrist and pulls it into the lightless chamber. It screams a sweet song of pain. She doesn't let it come out until it is silent. When she opens the door she feels the slightest tug in her chest when She sees the smile on its face sitting alone in the dark.
She doesn't know whether it's a good feeling or a bad feeling.
That strange feeling in Her chest returns when it kills for the first time. It goes away quickly when She hears it whisper I don't know how to deal with this… The answer, She gives, is in the form of a slap.
My only son, each day you grow older,
Despite all the evidence to the contrary, She hopes that it will grow to be strong. It takes Her years to understand that it will never be what she dreamed. It's too sensitive, too nervous, and too goddamn weak. Until then she watches it grow.
each moment I'm watching my vengeance unfold.
She learns how to control it—eventually—and , though it's far from ideal, She makes due. The price of this act is the nauseated feeling She gets when She uses the Black Blood to her advantage.
It should not need to be controlled to kill.
It should not be so weak.
The child of my body, the flesh of my soul,
She doesn't feel anything when She thinks it's dead. It should have known better than to betray Her.
Will die in returning the birthright he stole.
Hush, child, darkness will rise from the deep,
and carry it down into sleep, child.
Darkness will rise from the deep,
and carry it down into sleep.
(A/N: Ok, so this is generic as hell. But I had the idea, and I had to write. Please review.)