The weeks slipped by, slow and heavy, each one blurring into the next. It felt as if whole years had passed since that strange conversation with the gods, yet their words still echoed in my head. Somehow, I feel like whenever I go to sleep, it seems I wake up with more questions than answers. For instance, I always thought there was a Moon God and a Sun Goddess, not the other way around. Why did Solis glare at me with such fury? Was it because I was a demon? And why did they choose this moment, after all this time, to reach out to me?
I tried to piece together answers, but they slipped through my fingers like water. Maybe the gods never cared about human ideas of gender, but then why did they never appear as a same sex couple, no matter how many forms they took? The royal couple resembled the King of Lunae and Queen of Solis, whose union brought Armentis into being. Maybe that was when their genders were swapped. I still had no idea why Solis was so angry with me. As for why they reached out right after I gave birth, maybe it was to make sure the corruption was truly sealed inside me. If it wasn’t, my children’s souls would have no doubt been infected with my corruption.
Maybe these were the answers I was looking for, or maybe I was just grasping at straws. I kept telling myself that the talk with the pope I’d promised them might finally clear things up, but I wasn’t sure.
The days before our move to the capital blurred together, each one stretching on like a single, endless afternoon. One baby’s cries would set off the other, and before I knew it, I was juggling a diaper in one hand and breastfeeding with the other. Emma was a lifesaver, always there when I needed her. Looking back, I can’t imagine how I ever thought I could manage all of this alone, nor that I would ever get around diaper duty.
We looked after Sera, Alex, and Emma’s daughter, Teresa, together. Teresa was a few months older than the twins, with soft baby fat on her arms, legs, and cheeks, like little dumplings. She giggled at almost everything, her wide eyes drinking in the world with endless wonder. She could already sit up, roll over, and was starting to crawl; if we looked away for even a moment, she’d be halfway out the door. My own little ones, Seraphina and Alexander, were still so helpless, always needing me close. Teresa could be entertained for ages with a handful of wooden animals. Ducks were her favorite, probably because she’d burst into laughter whenever Emma said, 'Quack, Quack.' Whenever I tried, though, she’d just frown at me, as if I was doing it all wrong. The twins, in comparison, mostly slept, ate, and soiled their diapers.
We set up a nursery for Teresa and the twins to spend their first months, but whenever it was my turn, and it was time to sleep, I brought them all into my room. I could never get comfortable on the nursery bed anyway. Breastfeeding turned out to be easier than I’d feared, except for Teresa, who had already started teething. I wasn’t sure at first about nursing another child, but it felt natural in the end. Or maybe I was just too exhausted to care. Emma barely had enough milk for all three on her shift, while I had too much something, so I fixed it by killing a few of my own mammary glands with magic.
It was exhausting, even with healing magic to help me through the worst of it. My body could keep up, but my mind felt stretched thin, worn out in ways magic couldn’t fix.
But strangely, I loved it. Even the endless work, the sleepless nights, the mess, it all became something I cherished, in its own exhausting way.
Every laugh and giggle I coaxed from them felt like a small miracle. I adored the curiosity shining in their big eyes, the softness of their pudgy cheeks, the nonsense of their babbling. Emma teased me that I was smothering them, but I couldn’t help myself. Some mothers feel nothing for their babies, or even grow to resent them, but I was hopelessly in love.
Before I ever saw their faces, I used to worry. What if I hated them? What if I fell into some dark pit of sadness? What if they grew up to hate me?
What if I couldn't love them at all?
Thankfully, all the worries were wasted in the end.
Janus didn’t seem to share my wild enthusiasm, or maybe he just wasn’t as crazy as I was.
Whenever the babies slept in my room, Janus would retreat to his own. But during the day, the twins were the first and last thing he looked at. They’d wrap their tiny fists around his finger, tug at his hair, and even try to pull out his new stubble. Once, they even ripped one of the buttons off his shirt and immediately tried to swallow it like everything else they could get their little hands on *sigh*.
The rest of the family visited every day, though they learned to tiptoe after waking the twins one too many times. Maggie and Fiona seemed a little let down by the surprise I’d promised them. There wasn’t much they could do with the babies, except point out that now Fiona, Maggie’s aunt, had lost her title as the youngest in the family.
Olivia was utterly enchanted, climbing the stairs to the nursery each day with a spring in her step. Sometimes she even left poor Bella huffing behind her, trying to keep up. My mother once told me about her own mother, my grandmother, who had four daughters but lost both her sons before they turned one. When my mother gave birth to me, her only son, my grandmother was just as smitten. I wish I remembered her better, but she died when I was three. All that’s left is a warm, blurry silhouette in my memory, and the scent of pancakes dusted with powdered sugar.
Now I can’t help but see the parallels. In my mind, the faded outline of my grandmother blends with Olivia’s gentle presence. Olivia laughed, tears shining in her eyes, as the twins reached for her hairpin. Every time I watch them together, a quiet ache settles in my chest.
Wilhelm was acting stoic as ever, but like always, I could see the storm of feelings in his eyes whenever he visited. Sometimes he and Olivia would come together, and instead of arguing, they’d each take a grandchild in their arms, almost like a real couple again.
Whenever the Yuwen Family visited, I felt tears prick at my eyes. Again and again, I was reminded that my own family would never see my children, never hold them, never know their faces or even hear their names. Each time the thought crept in, it gnawed at me from the inside out. Yet, whenever the Yuwen Family arrived, a flicker of joy danced behind the sorrow. Maybe I was addicted to this bittersweet ache, or maybe I was just grateful for the reminder of what I’d lost. Over the weeks, the sharp longing dulled a little, but I knew it would never truly disappear.