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BLOODBATH FOR BIRDS

It's been you and me
since before I was me.
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‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The night was a shroud of darkness and fury, as the storm raged beyond the Wall, an unrelenting tempest that swallowed the village in its icy grasp. The wind howled like a banshee, and snow cascaded from the heavens, blanketing the world in a cold, suffocating silence. Within this desolate wilderness, a solitary cabin stood, its wooden frame creaking and groaning under the weight of the storm's assault.

Inside, the air was thick with tension and the acrid scent of sweat and fear. A flickering fire fought valiantly against the chill, casting wavering shadows on the rough-hewn walls. In the cramped bedroom, Talia Frostbite lay on a bed of furs, her body wracked with pain. Her long, curly brown hair, damp with sweat, clung to her pale, stricken face. Her deep gray eyes, once serene and beautiful, now mirrored the turmoil of the storm outside.

Talia's screams pierced the night, a harrowing symphony of agony and despair. Eirik, a boy of ten summers, stood by her side, his small hands trembling, his heart pounding with a fear he could not comprehend. The room seemed to shrink around him, the walls closing in as his mother's pain became his own.

"Mother, what do I do?" Eirik's voice quivered, barely audible over the tempest's roar. His eyes were wide, filled with tears and confusion, as he watched his mother writhe in torment.

Talia's gaze, wild and unfocused, locked onto her son. "Tear this monster out of me!" she screamed, her voice raw and jagged. Her words cut through the air, harsh and desperate.

Eirik recoiled, his young mind struggling to grasp the horror of her plea. "But Mother, it's your child... my sister or brother," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Talia's eyes blazed with a mixture of pain and madness. "Do it, Eirik! Get it out!" she shrieked, her body convulsing as another wave of agony crashed over her.

Tears streamed down Eirik's cheeks as he reached out, his small hands hovering helplessly above his mother's swollen belly. The fire crackled weakly in the hearth, its light dimming as the storm's fury intensified, chilling the room to its core.

Talia's screams echoed in the small room, blending with the storm's roar outside. The air was thick with fear, each breath a struggle as Eirik stood paralyzed by his mother's anguish. As the flames danced weakly in the hearth, the memories of how they had come to this moment surged in Eirik's mind like the storm outside.

Talia had once been the epitome of maternal warmth, her love for Eirik boundless and pure. Merrik, Eirik's father, had been a stalwart figure, a protector and provider. Their family was a beacon of hope in the harsh wilderness beyond the Wall. The village had revered them, their home filled with laughter and light even in the darkest of winters.

But everything changed in the third month of Talia's pregnancy. The White Walkers descended upon their village, an icy specter of death that brought the world to its knees. The attack was swift and brutal, the air filled with the chilling cries of the undead. Merrik, Talia's beloved husband, stood his ground, his sword gleaming in the pale moonlight as he faced the advancing horde. He fought with the ferocity of a man defending his very soul, but the White Walkers seemed to have a singular purpose. They cut him down with a ruthlessness that spared only those who did not fight back, leaving Merrik's lifeless body as a stark warning.

The village was left in a state of shock and terror, whispers of curses and omens spreading like wildfire. The protectors began to speak of the Frostbite family as cursed, the attack seen as a dark portent. As Talia's pregnancy progressed, the pain and complications grew unbearable. She began to suffer from vivid nightmares, visions of White Walkers that tormented her nights and filled her days with dread. Her once-loving demeanor twisted into madness, her eyes haunted by the specters of her dreams.

Talia's trance-like wanderings in the snow became the talk of the village. She would vanish into the night, her bare feet leaving trails in the snow, her eyes vacant and unseeing as she followed the path of her dreams. Eirik would find her at the edge of the woods, shivering and incoherent, and he would lead her back, his small hands gripping hers tightly.

The villagers' fear turned to hatred, their whispers turning into open hostility. Eirik felt their eyes on him, cold and accusing, as he struggled to shield his mother from their scorn. He tended to her as best he could, his young hands learning to soothe her pains and calm her fears. But he knew, deep down, that when the child was born, the villagers would come. They would come to end the curse they believed had befallen them.

Now, as Talia writhed in agony on the bed, her screams tearing through the storm's howl, Eirik's heart ached with helplessness. Her eyes, once so full of love, now burned with a madness that he could not quell.

"Cut it out, Eirik! Tear this monster from me!" she screamed again, her voice a jagged edge that cut through his soul.

Talia's agony reached a fever pitch, her screams a cacophony that mingled with the storm's howl. With a cry that echoed despair and madness, she struggled to rise from the bed. Blood flowed from her, staining the furs beneath her and pooling on the floor. Eirik, his heart pounding in panic, rushed to her side, trying to guide her back to the bed.

"Mother, please! You'll kill yourself!" Eirik cried, his voice breaking as he grasped her arms, his small hands slick with her blood.

Talia's eyes were wild, unseeing, as she shoved him away with surprising strength. "It's the monster, Eirik! The monster inside me! It will kill us all!" she ranted, her voice a raw, fractured melody of fear and delusion. Her words became a rambling torrent of incoherence, weaving together visions of White Walkers and the unborn child she now saw as a harbinger of doom.

She staggered toward the mirror, her movements frantic and uncoordinated. With a scream, she struck the glass, shattering it into a thousand glittering shards. Blood poured from her hand where the glass had cut deep. Eirik, horrified, tried to pull her away, but she lashed out, her hand connecting with his cheek in a stinging slap.

Talia's hand closed around a jagged piece of glass, her eyes ablaze with a terrifying resolve. She lifted the shard, ready to cut open her own belly, but in that moment, her body convulsed with the final throes of labor. With a guttural cry, she collapsed back onto the bed, and the child came forth in a torrent of blood.

Eirik moved instinctively, his hands reaching out to catch the newborn before she could fall to the cold, hard floor. The infant was slippery and covered in blood, but Eirik held her close, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Talia, her strength ebbing, sank back onto the bed, her eyes glazed with exhaustion and the remnants of madness. She seemed to shrink into herself, her once vibrant spirit dimmed by the ordeal.

Eirik looked down at the newborn in his arms, his fear and sorrow melting away as he gazed into her deep blue eyes. The baby girl, so small and delicate, blinked up at him, her eyes wide and innocent, a stark contrast to the chaos that had brought her into the world. She smiled, a tiny, angelic curve of her lips, and in that moment, Eirik was bewitched.

"She's not a monster, Mother," Eirik whispered, his voice soft and awed. "She's beautiful."

Eirik's heart thudded in his chest as he looked down at his newborn sister, her tiny form nestled against him. Her deep blue eyes blinked up at him, innocent and unaware of the storm of emotions that raged within him. With trembling hands, he stood and turned to his mother, hope flickering in his eyes.

"Mother, look at her," Eirik said softly, his voice filled with a desperate plea. "She's beautiful, not the monster you think she is."

But as he lifted his gaze to Talia, the words caught in his throat. Her chest no longer rose and fell with breath, and her eyes, once so full of life and pain, stared blankly at the ceiling. Eirik's heart stuttered, and for a moment, he did not comprehend what he saw.

"Mother?" he called again, his voice trembling. He moved closer, his sister still attached by the umbilical cord, the weight of her tiny body a grounding anchor in the swirling chaos of his mind. "Mother, please, look at her."

He reached the bedside, his free hand gently shaking her shoulder. "Mother," he whispered, but there was no response. Slowly, the truth began to seep into his consciousness, a cold and bitter realization that sank into his bones.

"No," he murmured, his voice a fragile whisper. "No, you can't be gone." He shook her again, harder this time, desperation tightening his grip. "Mother, wake up!"

But Talia remained silent and still, her final breath already stolen away by the storm's relentless fury. Eirik's knees buckled, and he fell onto the bed, the furs and blood pooling around him. He stared at his mother's lifeless face, his mind refusing to accept what his eyes saw.

For a long moment, he sat there, motionless, his mind a blank canvas of denial. The sound of his sister's soft cooing brought him back, her tiny voice a lifeline pulling him from the abyss. Eirik looked down at her, tears blurring his vision, and he smiled through his sorrow.

"You're not a monster," he whispered, his voice breaking. "You're my little sister, and you're beautiful."

He repeated the words over and over, a mantra against the darkness that threatened to consume him. "No one will hurt you," he promised, his voice gaining strength. "I will protect you. Always."

Eirik gently severed the umbilical cord with a piece of the broken mirror, his hands steady despite the tears that streamed down his face. He swaddled his little sister in a clean fur, cradling her close to his chest.

Eirik gazed at his mother’s lifeless form, a torrent of emotions swirling within him. He took a deep breath, his resolve hardening as he spoke softly, as if she could still hear him.

"Mother, you don't need to worry," he murmured, his voice tender yet firm. "I don't blame you for what happened. I know you loved me, and that love will never be forgotten. You don't have to love my sister; I'll love her enough for both of us. You can rest now, in peace."

He turned his attention to his sister, her tiny face peeking out from the fur swaddling. "We can't stay here. Bad people will come, and they might try to hurt us." He spoke with a maturity far beyond his ten years, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at his insides. "We have to go somewhere safe."

Eirik moved quickly, gathering everything of importance. He packed a small bag with provisions, his movements hurried but precise. He wrapped his little sister in more furs, ensuring she was warm and protected, even if it meant he had none left for himself. His breath frosted in the icy air, but he ignored the biting cold.

With his sister secured against his chest, Eirik grabbed the sword his father had given him. The weight of it was familiar and comforting, a connection to the father he had lost. The storm outside raged with unrelenting fury, but he steeled himself, his resolve as unyielding as the iron in his grip.

He cast one last, lingering look at the cabin—their home, now a tomb. The fire flickered weakly, its warmth a poignant reminder of what they were leaving behind. Eirik swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.

He pushed the door open, the storm's icy breath immediately clawing at his exposed skin. He stepped into the night, the wind howling like a beast unleashed. Snow whipped around them, a blinding flurry that obscured the path ahead. Eirik clutched his sister tighter, his body a shield against the elements.

With determined strides, he moved into the woods, the towering trees offering scant protection from the storm. Each step was a battle, the snow deep and treacherous. But Eirik pressed on, driven by the fierce love he felt for his sister and the promise he had made to his mother.

Eirik plunged into the dark woods, the icy wind cutting through his thin clothes. His sister’s tiny cries pierced the night, mingling with the distant shouts of the villagers. Panic gripped him as he heard their voices, angry and fearful, echoing through the trees.

“Curse them,” Eirik muttered, his breath visible in the frigid air. “They knew too quickly.”

He tightened his grip on his baby sister, her small body trembling in his arms. “We have to hurry, little one. I’m so sorry.”

He ran as fast as his ten-year-old legs could carry him, his heart pounding in his chest. The villagers’ torches flickered in the distance, their lights weaving through the forest like vengeful ghosts. He could hear them coming closer, their voices growing louder.

Eirik’s lungs burned from the cold and exertion. He spotted a large rock and ducked behind it, trying to catch his breath. His sister’s cries grew louder, her fear palpable. He tried to soothe her, his voice trembling.

“Shh, it’s okay. We’ll be safe soon. Please, don’t cry.”

But the sound had already given them away. A villager, eyes wild with madness, approached. Eirik held his breath, pressing himself against the rock, hoping to remain unseen. But his sister’s cries pierced the night, drawing the man’s attention.

“There you are,” the villager sneered, his face twisted with hatred. “Protecting that monster, the one who will bring the doom.”

Eirik’s heart pounded as he drew his father’s sword, the weight of it unfamiliar and heavy in his hands. The villager’s eyes were fixed on the baby, his madness consuming him. He lunged forward, ignoring Eirik entirely.

In that split second, Eirik’s fear turned to resolve. With a desperate cry, he thrust the sword forward, piercing the man’s stomach. The villager gasped, his eyes widening in shock before the life drained from them. He fell to the ground, blood staining the snow.

Eirik stood there, his breath ragged, staring at the body. He covered his sister’s eyes, his hands shaking. The village had fallen into madness, driven by fear and superstition.

At that moment, a gentle hand rested on his shoulder. Eirik, lost in a trance of shock and horror, didn’t register her presence immediately. When he did, panic surged through him, and he turned, swinging his sword wildly.

The young woman, barely eighteen, moved with grace and ease, disarming him effortlessly. She held his gaze, her eyes filled with an ancient wisdom that belied her years.

“Peace, young one,” she said softly. “I am not your enemy.”

Eirik looked at the young woman in awe, her beauty both wild and ethereal. Her blond hair, tousled and adorned with intricate braids, framed her face like a crown of sunlight against the darkness of the night. He found himself drawn to her, her presence a beacon of strength and reassurance in the chaos that surrounded them.

“Who are you?” Eirik asked, his voice filled with wonder and curiosity.

The young woman smiled gently, her eyes reflecting a wisdom far beyond her years. “I am Freyja,” she replied, her voice soft yet resolute. “I come from a clan in the reclusive mountains, a clan that has awaited the birth of your little sister on this fateful night.”

Eirik’s eyes widened in surprise at her words, the significance of her presence sinking in. He glanced down at his sister, his heart heavy with the weight of their destiny. Freyja’s urgency pulled him back to the present, reminding him of the danger that still lurked in the shadows.

“We must leave,” Freyja urged, her voice urgent. “We cannot stay here. I can dispatch some of the villagers, but I am not yet strong enough to face them all.”

She extended her hand to him, a silent invitation to join her on their journey to safety. Eirik hesitated for a moment, his mind racing with uncertainty and fear. But he knew he had no choice; his sister’s life depended on their escape from the madness that had consumed their village.

With a deep breath, Eirik reached out and clasped Freyja’s hand, the touch grounding him in the reality of their situation. Together, they ventured deeper into the forest, the shadows swallowing them whole as they fled from the horrors of their past.

As they moved through the darkness, Eirik felt a sense of determination settle over him. With Freyja by his side, he knew they had a chance at survival. They may be fleeing from the only home he had ever known, but in that moment, he felt a flicker of hope ignite within him—a hope for a new beginning, guided by the light of his sister’s innocent gaze and the steadfast presence of his newfound companion.
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