oh to speak of the aches and pains,Ā @lilacdulcis
Motherhoodā¦ How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.
Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerianās life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this ā¦ undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.
Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous nightās meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadnāt expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yenneferās ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amaraās mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceressās eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.
Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasnāt until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yenneferās child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yenneferās inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yenneferās. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her loverās body had only ever been done with Yennefer.
Godsā¦ It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yenneferās responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geraltās child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.
Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.
When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yenneferās and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Motherās rather than Amaraās. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.
It was a simple day, her beloved daughter just a few days shy of turning two months and was currently cradled in a linen cloth against Amaraās chest, fast asleep in the world of dreams and ever so content snuggled up against her motherās ample breasts as the Emissary worked silently, dutifully in one of her gardens, knees pressed into the damp, fertile soil as pale flesh vanished within brown particles, returning stained by the soil as small holes were made for the series of vegetables that would be soon planted and a stream of low hums would rumble away in the depths of her chest as she worked with gentle devotion. If only Amara had the slightest of inklings, a warning of the whirlwind that would soon fall upon her doorstep bestow a life-altering swirl of emotions for herself, her child and her unexpected visitor. The Rissberg Sorceress was ever so painfully unaware of Yenneferās discovery, of the tale that the troublesome bard, Dandelion, had told to Geralt in ear shot of the Sorceress of Vengerberg in regards of seeing the pale-skinned woman heavily pregnant at the Oxenfurt markets on more than one occasion and carried forth with gossip in regards to whom the father could be. How painfully unaware of the situation that would soon be unfolding she was, of the life-changing visit that was going to rain down upon her.
