The Blood Orchid Blooms
Sabrina's water broke at midnight, the fluid black and glistening, smelling of wet earth and rotting roses.
Julian caught her as she collapsed, his thorn-scarred hands gentle against her back. The wounds where the grove had taken root in him wept amber sap onto her nightgown, binding them together in a grotesque matrimony.
"It's too early," Sabrina gasped, but even as she spoke, violet vines slithered from between her thighs, flowering instantly in the moonlight.
Lyra clapped her hands from the corner, her mouth smeared with something red and stringy.
"Sister's hungry," she giggled.
The Birthing Chamber
They'd prepared the nursery as best they could:
Willow branches bent into a birthing arch
Moss stolen from the graveyard to line the bed
A silver knife (Julian's last concession to normality)
But when the contractions came, it was clear this would be no human birth.
Sabrina's screams weren't entirely her own—the grove spoke through her, its voice layered beneath hers:
"Push, feed, grow—"
Julian held her up as her body split open, not along old scars, but in new, impossible places—her navel unspooling like a blossom, her ribs parting like willow fronds.
What emerged wasn't a child.
Not yet.
First came the roots, thick as fingers, twining around Julian's wrists in a mockery of a lover's embrace. Then the scent—overripe blackberries and fresh-turned grave soil. Finally, the sound: a wet, gasping wail that shook the petals from the birthing arch.
Lyra crawled onto the bed, her head tilting.
"Oh," she murmured, disappointed. "She looks like you."
The First Feeding
The thing in Sabrina's arms wasn't a baby.
Not quite.
Its skin was bark-pale, its veins pulsing violet beneath the surface. When it cried, its mouth opened too wide, revealing tiny thorn-teeth already sharp enough to draw blood from Sabrina's breast.
Julian reached for it—
—and the infant latched onto his finger, draining the sap from his thorns with a satisfied gurgle.
"She'll need a name," Sabrina whispered, exhaustion making her head loll.
Lyra grinned, her own teeth glinting.
"Grandmother," she crooned. "We should call her Grandmother."
Outside, the oldest willow shook itself awake, scattering dead leaves like a shower of bones.
CHAPTER END:
Julian woke at dawn to an empty cradle and Sabrina standing in the garden, her nightgown stiff with dried sap.
At her feet, the earth bulged unnaturally, as if something had been planted deep.
When he touched her shoulder, she turned with violet eyes and a smile that showed too many teeth.
"Shhh," she murmured. "Can't you hear them growing?"