X. Claude Nightray
Out of all the births of my fellow siblings, I recall Claude's the most vividly, particularly since on the night of his birth, I thought my mother was going to die. I was ten years old then, and in my memory, whenever Mother was "expecting," she always fell deathly ill and the results would be terrible and leave the house draped in sadness for days (she had miscarried twice during my childhood and one of those times had been unfortunately close to the unborn infant's due date). By the age of ten I had associated this "expectation" with some dreadful illness that made Mother swell up to ungodly proportions and rendered her bedridden and sickly. My governess explained to me vaguely how children came into the world but that only added to my innocent horror, imagining my mother's stomach exploding and expelling some sort of demon babe.
So on the night my first younger brother arrived, I was anxiously curled up in a corner of the parlor room, not paying attention to the book I was reading and instead, plotting out ways in my head to rescue my mother from her "expectation." I didn't know exactly how I was going to go about this, but approached my parents' room with a determined plot to do something, hearing shouts and screams that struck terror into my little self. I hesitated at the doorway as those sounds lessened, trying to muster some sort of bravery needed to barge in, when the door opened and the midwife stuck her head out.
"What are you doing?" she demanded and I could hear these screeching sounds that were simply unnatural, until then they softened and my mother's voice called my name.
I wanted to flee at that very moment, when I saw Father appear in the threshold, looking quite tired but smiling and taking my hand, informing me that I finally had a new little brother.
Well, I had thought, somewhat reluctantly, as I eyed that wrinkled red thing tucked in my Mother's bare arms, it's no demon, but perhaps he'll turn out all right.