Maybe I could have saved them.
Had things turned out differently that day on the stairs, perhaps I could have been the anchor fastening them to solid ground, the hook welding together what would otherwise fall apart.
But it wasn't supposed to be.
I was lost that day, thrust back into the nameless void from whence I had come to kindle hope. Strange, that something that looked so promising in the beginning should be blotted out so cruelly. Cynical one might call it, that Death would rip me out of my warm nest and drown me in blood, depriving me of the chance to heal those who needed me.
My bittersweet story began in a warm April night, a night the one who conceived me would always remember as the most passionate of her entire life.
In the semi-darkness of her plush room, she felt a heady rush the likes of which she'd never known, and willingly she gave in to the thrill, the ecstasy of surrender. She selfishly drank her fill, just as selfishly as the man engaged with her in the erotic dance that is as old as time itself.
To her, it came as a surprise that there were still things in the world that could surprise her, shake her to the core. A wild primitive joy spurred her on, a feeling that this was how it was supposed to be... With him. Through the haze of rapture, the blissful mingling of smell and touch, she realized faintly that this was the first time they were truly connecting, in every sense of the word. Body and soul.
Limp and wanton in his arms, she came close to something that night, so close to a discovery she should have made years ago... That she belonged here, in his heated embrace, his hands and tongue caressing and bruising her at the same time. She was helpless in the eye of the all-consuming passion carrying her away, helpless before his strength, and it felt glorious.
And what about him, you ask?
He felt it, too.
Ravishing her, he sensed the change in her; felt that this might be the night that would bring about a golden world.
His desire for this woman, nurtured and suppressed for so many years, had finally been unleashed, and he carelessly took what was his, satisfying his cravings. It was a wild and sensuous dream, the realization of his most intimate needs. His skin tingling with pleasure, he roamed her body with his hands, hurting her even as she moaned his name. His touch was rough; he knew he was bruising her. But even in his drunken state, fuelled by jealousy and anger, tenderness would sneak in every now and then, and he kissed her softly, leisurely, knowing he had the whole night before him.
But just as she surrendered to his power, he yielded, too, yielded utterly and completely to the bitter love that had driven him to take her so forcefully. He muttered hurried words under his breath, for once in his life letting his guard down in her presence, laying bare before her the powerful emotions she evoked in him. And he could feel what his words and hands were doing to her; she writhed under him, arching her her back to get closer and closer. She whispered things too, words he knew she would never have uttered under different circumstances. But neither of them was in their right mind; they were unable to hold themselves back, both physically and emotionally.
He sensed that she was beginning to realize something, that she was coming close to understanding that this was meant to be, that they were made for each other. Holding her as they shuddered with blissful release, he prayed inwardly that this beautiful bond between them would last in the sober light of day.
I was conceived that night; a life created by passion and ecstasy. I should have been a harbinger of change, a bringer of good luck.
And, in the beginning, everything seemed to be going well.
As I was growing inside of her, relying on her strength as so many had done before me, whether unborn or already born, I felt like she wanted me. She was radiating with a joy she had never felt before when carrying a child, a happiness that could only stem from the fact that she loved the one who sired me.
But, of course, she did not realize this, even as she began to yearn for him in his absence. She missed him and the little girl he had taken with him, my almost sister, missed them more and more with each day, and there was nothing I could do to help her.
I swear to you, if I had had the power, I would have made her understand.
Everytime she stroked her belly gently, as if to reassure herself I was still there, I wanted to scream at her. I wanted desperately for her to come to her senses and understand that she loved him, my sire. My father.
I take no delight in recounting what happened when he finally returned from his trip.
We were standing on the stairs when he came through the door, his expression unreadable.
I still remember the beautiful smile that lit up her face when she saw him. Her heart was pounding in her chest, the beat of it thundering through her entire body and into my own little heart. For a fleeting moment I was full of hope that this would turn out well, eager to see his reaction when she told him of the news that I was inside of her. He would be so happy about it. Perhaps I would indeed be their saving grace, the balm healing their wounds...
I was mistaken.
It happened so fast I do not now recall how it all began. I only know that suddenly she grew tense, her heart still beating wildly, but this time with anger, not excitement.
They were saying things to each other, hurtful things I could not grasp completely; and then I felt her entire body go rigid, before she started to tremble as if recoiling from the man standing next to her. I could feel her recoil even from me, like one faces away from something that has turned into a heavy burden.
"Cheer up, maybe you'll have a miscarriage."
This was clear enough even for me to understand, and I convulsed within her belly. Why was he doing this? Why did he have to be so cruel? I understood her pain, the hatred she felt for him in that moment. She was shaking with rage, her muscles so tense I thought they would tear any minute.
I was still pondering the thought how two people could hurt each other so much, when I felt her move swiftly as if seized by some mad urge. She hit the arm he held up in defense violently and swayed, trying to hold her balance.
I held my breath. If she fell, I would fall with her and we would both die.
It was as if the world stood on a razor's edge...
Standing on the topmost polished step of the great staircase, we staggered as she made a desperate effort to clutch the banister.
And then I felt her weight shift, and she fell backwards. I was going to die, I knew it then. I'd be torn out of her womb, never to see the light of day. I'd never be able to heal them.
We crashed onto the the hard wood, pain obliterating everything else.
And then we were tumbling down the stairs, rolling over and over, down into a darkness that was bitter and cold and all enveloping.