This daughter of the flesh is much in my thoughts, as with the warrior queen.
I had known many forms of loss before, but to watch her struggle for those days and to hold her as she died was different. Perhaps because she was almost all potential and little of herself. And yet there was. She was fierce; many times it was expressed that she should have already passed. She was beautiful. I had always thought that anything that came from this body would be misshappen in some way. And in truth, there was, this cord about the neck.
But she, she was well formed. And mine. It was overwhelming, how much she was mine. I had thought of her as Lyria’s, until her birthing.
You see how quickly it becomes trite to discuss.