#raakhti

[raszard]

[oldxenomorph]

headcanon + blood

headcanon + word prompts

Kibellah knew this birthing would be different.

There were signs. The blood from the offerings Kibellah placed upon her altar at night seemed heavier, thicker. She noticed the there was a restlessness amongst the hive of blessed sisters. When when this day came, Kibellah heard whispers in the blood, a layering of songs.

Sister Marcy confirms, she hears multiple voices in the host chosen by their newest sister.

Kibellah and Nemesis stand side by side as they observe the birthing, observing Liliya, their newest sister, complete this important and sacred rite. Cloaked in red, their towering forms shrouded in bright, processed red, holy red, imperial red.

Red and black sisters gather, sisters full of stars gather, they too are compelled to watch. The energy amongst the Emperor's daughters electric, a joy that dances in their acidic veins at the excitement of new sisters being made, being born.

One of them has already gathered up the incubator to be preserved, to be made into a gift for their mother.

The host contorts and screams in agony, gnashing their teeth as their chest expands. Nails chips as they claw at the floor from the pain as their body twists into a position that makes it easier for their chest split open, break open.

Kibella hears the cracking of bones.

--

The beads of Liliya's rosary click between the fingers of her only hand as she prays in silence besides Kibellah.

Every day, there must be prayer and meditation in the silence of the great altar of Extinction, the thrum of the Ziggurat at its lowest, its slowest, it's quietest. The two daughters, two sisters, sit besides each other within the labyrinth, their breathing and heartbeats in perfect synchronization in their deep states of cogitation guided by devotion.

Blessed sisters sleep soundly all over the great altar, blessed sisters dreaming in the low haze of sacred incense made from the Old Worm's holy spice.

A red nymph sleeps soundly in Kibellah's lap. Two blue-tinted nymphs sleep in Liliya's lap.

Kibellah listens to the way the rosary beads click, the sound is an echo of the hymn in her sister's blood, alive and singing in time with the acidic song within their blessed sisters. She hears the blood in Liliya's miraculously regrown tongue, holy blood that swarms with the same blackness inside every one of Extinction's daughters.

Flesh of God. Bthnkor ot r'luhhor. Flesh of Mother. Bthnkor ot fhalma. Mother is God. Fhalma ah r'luhhor. For such beautiful and vicious daughters, the universe warps and sings at the feet of each of their thrones: beloved, beloved, beloved.

The beads of Liliya's rosary stop clicking.

"Sister Kibellah."

Kibellah opens her eyes at the sound of her name. Liliya's voice is a whisper, a harshness. Even with her keen senses, sometimes Kibellah has to concentrate in order to hear the sound of her sister, the sound which makes her unique. So used she is to her voice being like Sister Marcy's, mimicking the vocalizations of blessed sisters. But Marcy's first tongue was the common one, she was given a gift by the Emperor's influence, chosen to be a daughter that moment before she entered the Maginot crash site; the shape of the Emperor's love for her daughters.

Nemesis was shaped by the Night Herself in her hour of loneliness, made her in the shape of her love for the Emperor. Kibellah was watched, observed, chosen when she was in Commorragh, surrounded by the gore of herself in Commorragh; chosen by the red sisters, chosen to be the shape of the Emperor's joy and devotion.

"I believe I am ready to usher a new sister into this world. Tell me what I must do."

For moment, Kibellah says nothing. Pulled out of her own meditative state, she acclimates to the world again, waking and living world. Her spidery hand gently places itself upon the sleeping form of the red nymph in her lap, eliciting a chittering sound from the little sister. The little red princess curls up tighter, presses her face into the cool and scarred palm of the Viszier. She wonders what shape Liliya is, what reflection of the Emperor she is.

"First, you must ask the Mater-Imperator for permission." Kibellah's voice holds Liliya's attention. "Then, you will chose a host."

She turns her head to look at the young woman, her red and black gaze the same as their mother's. There is a gentleness in the way Kibellah's eyes study Liliya, as if to confirm that she is ready for the task.

"You must choose the right host for our blessed sister," she says, "Look for signs. They will reveal themselves to you. Study them, observe them until you are certain they are the one. Pray and make offerings. And then, you will set things into motion."

A soft rasp emits from Liliya and a smile spreads across her darkened lips, a smile that presses into the scars carved deep into her hollow cheeks.

--

The host's chest breaks open as new life enters the world. Not one nymph, but two. Newborns that cry as all healthy children do when emerging from the womb.

Twins. Such an event is incredibly rare.

Marcy's eyes are wide with awe and excitement. A smile spreads upon her features as she wraps her arm around the one Liliya has tucked into the false hand attached to her corset. Beautiful sisterhood. Kibellah watches the way Nitza inspects her new sisters. The blessed sister gently presses her marbled crest against the nymphs's and makes a low clicking sound that encourages them to pull themselves out of the host.

Their small forms are covered in the red of life, the gore of life.

Kibellah can see from where she is that one is pitch black and one is full of stars. The birth of twins, each with the blood of their mothers, each in the image of their mothers, is an auspicious event. They eagerly remove themselves from the host, coiling their long forms as they position themselves upright.

"They will need names, Sister Liliya."

A sound emits from Liliya, a rasp of acknowledgement from behind the golden skeletal teeth of her mask. There is a moment that passes before she removes the ornate covering, the two faces pulling away to reveal her scarred face. Scarification that is brutal and deep like their mother's, the young sisters recognize her face as that of their mother's. Liliya reaches out and gently touches the nymphs, gently caresses their small faces.

Light in the woman's eyes, red having fully consumed filaments of brown ever since she took in the Emperor's blood, ever since she became daughter. Light of revelation in the woman's eyes, the light of epiphany. Liliya is the shape of the Emperor's faith, the light that burns at the accretion disc of a black hole, bright and devouring; the tongue of God, daughter of voice, daughter of Extinction.

"Zoya. Anastasia," Liliya says, "Life and Resurrection."

Nitza repeats the names in the tongue of their mother, in the dialect innate to all blessed sisters. Her vocalizations attract the attention of the twin nymphs, prompting them to chitter in return, for they recognize the words as their names.

Kibellah lowers herself, sinking into her knees so that she may be closer to her new sisters. Her red cloak pools around her, and parts as she reaches out. The twins looks at her in unison, chittering as she carefully touches their crests, making sure the blood of their host gets onto her fingers.

"I bless you, little sisters. May you always be healthy and violent."