This story starts seven years after Cleaved, six months into Star's first pregnancy.
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Chapter 33 - Relics
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Fresh from an afternoon nap, twenty-two-year-old Star Butterfly groggily rubs her growing baby-bump while aimlessly shuffling around her parents' yurt.
"Mom? Dad? Marco-o-o? Um, where'd you all go?"
The only response to her question was a warm breeze blowing through the stretched canvas home. After a few minutes of wandering she finally found a clue, a cardboard box upon which a note had been placed.
'The boys will be back, I will not. This came from what is left of the castle. Remember to take it home with you. - Your mother'
"Grea-a-at, more junk for the apartment."
Blowing up at her bangs in slight frustration, the soon to be mom made a nest with one of her father's meat blankets before taking the corrugated container over to the sofa. Once the former princess was settled she removed the top, unsure what strange relics lay inside. To Star's surprise, they were all hers.
"My narwhal!"
The cloth sea mammal, a gift from the Waterfolk kingdom, had seen better days. However, the squishy toy still looked as if it could survive a few more practice narwhal-blasts. How many times had the five-year-old Star sent it flying across a room? Thankful to see it again, the expecting mum happily gave the stuffy a hug before placing it in her lap.
Next came a questionably functional clay mug. It had been crafted by an eleven-year-old Star during her two-week stay at Princess Camp. Turning it upside down, she rubbed a finger over the hole Pony made with her horn as the two friends attempted to attach the handle. Beneath Star's one-and-only attempt at pottery was a well-loved set of watercolors, several dried up rainbow pens, and below them a five inch stack of tattered activity books mixed in with dozens of loose drawings. Star didn't remember making any of the artwork, but based on the crayon signatures she knew they were all hers.
With a treasure trove of relics in front of her, the former princesses couldn't help but smile at her younger self's artwork. How soon would it be before she was covering walls with her own child's creations? That happy thought faded when she noticed a disturbing trend.
"Me taking treasure from monsters. Me sinking a ship full of monsters. Me crushing the head of a monster."
She pulled out the next stack of paper.
"Me and dad destroying a monster's castle. Me using the wand to fight monsters. Mom using magic to drive away monsters. A puzzle book about burning down a monster village. Oh corn, a whole connect-the-dots showing how a monster should be drawn-and-quartered! W-why didn't anyone see that there was something wrong with this? Why?"
The soon to be parent placed her childhood masterpieces in one of two piles. On her left went harmless scenes of fantastic animals, somewhat recognizable family members, and images of the fun she expected to have when she was old enough to inherit her family's ancestral wand. On her right went every echo of monster hate that had been beaten into her since she was old enough to speak. It was clear, even before the box was empty, her childhood indoctrination had been thorough, and if not for a boy from Echo Creek questioning the fairness of Mewnipendance Day, complete.
An hour later the men had returned and her father was grilling. With one arm on her baby-bump, Star walked to her car. The narwhal, mug, and a few acceptable drawings went into the backseat. The rest were placed in the fire pit. Her hoodie wearing husband gave the former princess a hug as they watched the fruits of old Mewman society slowly burn.
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