The Brood Mother

Legend: The Brood Mother

They say she only comes for the forgetful, those who speak too loud in the fog, or break the stillness of the swamp at dusk.

Don’t talk in the swamp. That’s the first lesson.

The second? If you see eight blue-slitted eyes blink in the mist, you’re already hers.

The Elgan of Biloxan call her The Brood Mother, and they do not curse her. They offer fish and fruit, and speak in hushes when the water is still.

She is not a beast, they say. She is punishment that walks. They say she is not hunting, she is listening.

Blue eyes flicker from the trees. Then silence. Then the sting. You won't remember the pain, not at first. Just heat. Something moving, just under your skin. They say that’s her children waking inside you.

A gift of life. A lesson in death.

They say you’ll walk a while before you feel them, the little mouths beneath your ribs, gnawing.

Some don’t scream. They just… kneel.

That’s how you know the eggs have taken root.

As they consume you, your eyes will be open. Your stomach swollen and split. Your body hollowed in overwhelming agony.

The last thing they eat is your voice.