My entry for the second Dragon Queen Week, Day 6: surprise pregnancy.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star

How I wonder what you are
Up above the world so high
Like a diamond in the sky...

..

She hears.

It's warm, all around her, and it's wet, and she's fluctuating, oh so gently. She feels safe, she feels protected. She's in a limbo, a mid-way place – she swims between creation and life. She waits to be born.

And she hears.

At first, just slim fragments of words, slippery in the fluids.

She'll be strong. And beautiful.
Do you think she'll have my eyes?
She should – I love your eyes.

But she didn't understand, then. That came later. Time isn't a concept for her to grasp, and won't be for some time, but she feels herself growing. Her hearing magnifies, her eyes are still shut.
That is the time of the songs.

Lullabies, and soft tunes, and hummed refrains. The words are still difficult. Some of them she can manage – but there's also an ancient, unknown tongue, that slides through her small body of baby, and makes her shiver, like a musician who's playing hidden strings. The melody vibrates, and it's as if something is awakening inside of her.
Something old and powerful and beautiful. Something with fire.

She always kicks, she can't help it.

And every time, without exception, a kind pressure against the waters. The pressure rubs, soothes, whispers, and she feels lulled.

Your daughter won't let me sleep.
Not sure you can ground her yet, honey.

The voices keep murmuring, and more pressure is applied, and the fluid swirls around her. She falls asleep, maybe.
Her dreams are purple, black, and blue. There's smoke, in her dreams. Eyes. Flapping wings. The wind.

I can't wait to fly with you, little one.

Then, it's the time of the stories.

She's older, now. Months of songs have sharpened her senses. She can move her fingers, her nails are no bigger than minuscule shells. She knows of the shells, because of the stories. Her stories.

They always start with the same words, and she trembles in anticipation.

Once upon a time…

And so she learns.
She learns of the sea, and of the sunsets, and of a pirate's daughter who sailed the unknown oceans. She learns of a silent lady who helped her brothers to get rid of a curse that forced them to turn into swans. She learns of a lion and four brothers. She learns of a ring. Of mermaids and snow storms.

She learns of a lost princess who found her way home and fell in love. Of a prince who saved his mother from death and despair. She learns of two girls, who swore to be together forever, and got brutally separated.

She learns of a thief who had a gentle soul, and loved light and darkness of his lover, and died for her. She learns of leaves, waterfalls and dawns. She learns of the dragons, of a little star who came home to her moon, after years of separation. She learns of swans and arrows, apples and blood, horses and fire.

She can't wait. Suddenly, it feels like her time there is about to end – but it's so warm and comfortable, and a part of her doesn't want to leave. The voices whisper, quietly excited.

We can't wait to meet you, baby.

And soon, other voices add their unique tales to her limited knowledge. A boy – at least, she thinks he is, and he's humming against her liquid nest.

How are you, little sister? You're not overtiring mom, are you?

A silvery voice, sometimes. A girl, and she's younger than the boy, louder, maybe, but always careful around her.

Can I talk to the baby, auntie, please? Hey, hello, baby. It's your cousin, and I'm waiting for you, and I love you so much already.

And she always has this warm feeling, when they speak. She thinks she has heard a word for that – a word which collects love, protection, and a whispered forever. Family.

But her favorite moments, are when the water swishes, and she's curled on herself, because the body that hosts her and nurtures her and cares for her has to rest. Night.

At night, is when everything is beautiful, black, starry spots and curly clouds. At night, gentle caresses, more words, and shivers of love and pleasure. And at night, is when her two voices sing together, a tale of heaven and sin.

She won't remember of this, of course. It will remain, it will mold her being, it will be her legacy. She has fire and smoke and magic in her blood. She has memories, tales and songs. She has darkness and light.

Come on, princess. Almost there.
Be brave.

And then, the water is inexplicably missing, and there's a force, more ancient than life itself – it is life itself, and it hurts, and it pushes her out towards the light, it hurts so much.

Her first breath of oxygen is like a knife of air. She tries out her lungs, and she's flying from hands to hands, sticky blood and mucus are removed, and her wrist burns. Later in her life, she'll see the little star on there. Her mark.

Right now, cold water washes her, and cold fabric dries her – why is it all so cold? – and finally, the hot embrace she was waiting for. Arms surround her, and her voice again. She recognizes it, she feels safe.

"Oh, look at you. You're perfect."

A warm hand, the other voice.

"She's beautiful, honey. She has your hair."

"Indeed she is. She's absolutely beautiful."

Her nose nuzzles against her mother's breast, and she finds her nipple, and starts sucking tentatively. She finds a rhythm, and now she's at home.

"Welcome to the family, Seraphine."