Author's Note:
Chapter's end is rather sad. I promise to supply you with a continuation tomorrow that will be, at least, a bit more satisfying.
"The unwritten laws of Gallifrey"
Ironically that was a book's title. I had always been curious about why you would name a book 'unwritten'.
But thinking about it that way had been rather superficial.
In my defence I can only say that I have been a child back then.
"The unwritten laws of Gallifrey" had been one of the books I had discovered standing amongst the other, usually medical, books in a shelf in my father's study.
And I had read it.
And of course I didn't understand it.
But I remember reading it, and I remember my father sneaking up behind me and snatching it from me, shutting the book with the words "That's nothing for children at your age."
And I had been so scared that he had descried me while I had been reading one of his books without his permission that I had hid under my bed for the rest of the day.
And Koschei had come to me during the night, sneaking into my room through an open window; he had soon detected me under the bed.
And he had snuggled up against me and warmed me throughout the night.
In the morning my father had apologized for frightening me by his harsh tone and promised me that I was allowed to read any of his books whenever I wanted to, that I never need to ask for his permission. One day, he had chuckled, his books would belong to me nonetheless.
And I had thanked him.
And I had never dared to read that book ever again.
But I hadn't needed to. I hadn't understood it at the age of eight or nine, but I had remembered it, the book had been burnt into my mind, it was annealed and would stay like this forever. I could recall it. And with the years I learned to understand it, to find its deeper sense.
'The unwritten laws of Gallifrey" was derived from 'unwritten' as 'legally unanchored' meaning that it was no actual law and therefore not actionable.
It could be compared to culture or moral; possibly even manners or practise.
'The unwritten laws of Gallifrey' contained important strategies, rules, commands and customs in order to enable a peaceful cohabitation.
On the other hand it was a code of conduct, a code of behaviour.
And the book didn't include laws or ordinances. But it contained something far worse.
By writing down what had been practise for over thousands of years it had become a dogma.
Customs were no longer accepted or tolerated; in written form they had become a moral imperative.
So the unwritten laws of Gallifrey became stronger than the written laws of Gallifrey.
And the unwritten laws of Gallifrey were rather strict. And punishment was to be distributed among anyone by anyone.
As the law's exertion of influence started to dwindle the communities gained strength and prestige.
So what once had been accepted was now compulsory.
'The unwritten laws of Gallifrey' included etiquettes throughout your life; ironically the book didn't start with birth, it began with death. Later on I figured that it didn't make a difference; after all it was a circle, life was a ball to be passed on genetically over the generations.
The unwritten laws contained rites and usages, obligating that you had to cremate every living soul that had lived and walked to give it back the earth, as being alive was still being part of it.
Therefore you weren't allowed to cremate children that hadn't been old enough to start walking themselves; or, if you insisted on cremating them to fulfil the rite, you had to do it while their bodies were embedded at stacks of wood, floating on a river or just the open sea, to let their ashes never touch the ground but let them return to earth nonetheless.
And the book stipulated that you had to give birth to your own children to declare them as your own, meaning that you had to do anything, you could be capable of, yourself.
Caesarean sections had been common on Gallifrey before the book had been written and though the society had started to single out this surgical procedure of giving birth it couldn't quite get rid of it after it had been included in 'The unwritten laws of Gallifrey'.
Society couldn't evolve and develop. Society was stuck with caesarean sections as well as the people themselves.
And my father had forced me into performing it myself for the sake of the unborn.
It was thought to be terrible bad luck to let someone else perform the caesarean section on your behalf. Rumours existed that you would connect with the child during the procedure; that you could feel what it felt, sparing yourself the pain of your own body as well as noticing if you had accidently hurt the unborn with the scalpel; and that you could communicate with it, helping you to get in touch before it had even been born, helping you by looking after it during the surgery.
A birth was to be performed by yourself. On your own, all alone.
It would bring misfortune over the parturient part as well as the child itself if someone dared to interfere.
But back then I couldn't have cared less about it.
I couldn't have cared less and even if I was to die instantly after having the child cut out of my body by my father due to the promised misfortune, I couldn't have cared less.
I would have preferred dying anyway.
I was still resting in my father's arms and stared with disbelieving eyes at the newborn beside me. My father had wrapped the baby in a towel and had placed it on the sofa under some sheets to keep it warm. It hadn't stopped crying and I felt my body twitching whenever it would dare to scream.
My father had taken care of the wound; he had stitched it up quickly and placed a bandaged around it to keep my abdominal wall from hinging down.
I stared at the baby starry-eyed and hadn't closed my mouth.
Even after feeling the pricking of my father's needle I had stayed quiet.
I was unable to move. I was unable to think. The thunderstorm roaring through my head had disappeared. But still I was left alone on the dark.
I had borne unbearable pain. But thinking about the blade, feeling the cuts still in my pulsating flesh wasn't as bad as knowing that I had born a child.
I stared in shocked silence at the baby beside me.
My father stroked my cheeks tenderly.
"It's over now" he whispered quietly "Theta, it's over. You can go back now."
I lowered a hand to reach for the newborn when my father grabbed me by the wrist and pushed my hand aside.
"Don't touch it" he hissed "and don't look at it. Just go."
He arose cautiously, helping me to get back on my own two feet again. I couldn't take my eyes off the child on the sofa, the child, my child, my child from whose existence I hadn't even known until a few minutes ago. My father placed on of his hands at my neck while standing behind me; he embraced me with strong arms and I snuggled against his chest unintentionally.
He was warm.
He reminded me of Koschei. My Koschei. They Koschei I had known and loved.
The Koschei who had fallen victim to his childhood's virilisation.
I would have cried if my eyes hadn't been dried out and blood shot.
I would have sobbed if my throat hadn't been sore.
And I would have shed tears for Koschei if there had been any left.
My father stroked the back of my head carefully.
"You can go back, Theta" stated my father firmly "You can return. No one has to know. No one has to ascertain. No one has to care."
I nodded abstractedly and tried to look over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the newborn.
The baby had stopped crying and whimpered quietly as my father shoved me out into the darkness.
I had wanted to protest.
I had wanted to stay.
I had wanted to take the child in my arms, to hold it, to see it, to feel it... to know that it belonged to me. To see it as what it was.
My child.
But my father sighed as he saw the look at my face as he closed the door behind me.
He stood by my side in the dark, still protecting me with his arms, shielding me against the strong wind.
"Mark my words, Theta" my father spoke quietly while he caressed my back absent-minded "Don't look back. Don't turn around. Don't stop. Just go. And don't, Theta, don't run."
The wind was howling in my ears and drowned out the sounds from within the house, the sounds of the baby, the newborn's cries.
And I felt my eyes water again.
"...but...but the..." I had whispered with wide open eyes as I stared my father in the eyes pleadingly and unfocused.
"Don't worry" my father's voice was soothing "I'll take care of it."
And I had nodded. And I had turned around.
And I could have killed myself for accepting it. I could have killed myself for obeying my father, for facing the gruesome and cold night and simply start moving, mindlessly walking away.
My father hadn't heard my distant sobs as I had reached the top of the hills.
He couldn't have heard them. And he wouldn't have heard them even if he had stayed outside of the house to watch me disappearing in the velvet darkness.
I had stopped after arriving at the top of the hill, after standing beside the trees, the trees that creaked and groaned and whistled quietly.
And I could still hear it.
It was still there, still around me, carried in the wind.
My child's screams, my child crying helplessly for me.
I placed my hands over my ears and faced the increasing wind, I pressed the palms of my hand against my ears and started running as tears trailed down my cheeks.
I couldn't hear it anymore.
I couldn't take it anymore.
I couldn't take it!
My child was still there, still in my father's care, he had promised that he would take care of it, and I hadn't been allowed to look at it nor to touch it, he hadn't granted me the favour to hold it in my arms, he hadn't let me catch even a small glimpse of it.
I ran against the wind with my hands over my ears...and my child's voice still echoing in my head.
I was glad when I had reached the academy.
I was so glad to be back, to be home.
I rushed through the corridors and wandered around the halls desperately.
My mind was still a mess. A hopeless mess. And I couldn't remember where my room had been located, nor if I even possessed one.
I sneaked around the stairs quietly before reaching a floor that looked at least a bit familiar.
The academy meant home to me.
My home had been destroyed as my father had dragged me out of the house.
He wouldn't have let me stay... he wouldn't have...
I pushed the door open and managed to crawl into my bed after stumbling over several scattered books and unidentifiable objects on the floor.
I collapsed onto the bed and closed my eyes instantly.
I didn't want to think anymore.
I didn't want to be anymore.
I just wanted to find some sleep.
I just wanted to sleep.
To sleep during a night that would never end.
I wanted to sleep.
I wanted to be all alone.
And I prayed for anything that would drown out the heartrending cries in my skull.