In Which Celina Is Wasted

March 16, 1205

Was Celina a horrible mother if she wished her three-day-old baby... did more? Was a little more interesting? Surely it wasn't fair to expect much of a tiny little creature who likely still hadn't figured out just why all these shapes and colors had suddenly sprung into existence, why all these strange beings kept picking her up and speaking to her in sing-song tones, in random patterns of sounds that made no sense.

And surely it wasn't fair to Danthia based on Celina's reaction to her other children! She'd been in awe of Farr for every brief minute she'd seen him. She'd refrained from meeting Nanalie, but the very thought of her was the same. Indeed, she'd been smitten with Danthia too... but, she lived with Danthia. She'd carried Danthia. She would, Lord willing, see Danthia more days than not for at least the next couple decades. Perhaps Dani del Marinos had been right about her. Perhaps she was fickle, fleeting, easily bored.

Her love life had certainly come to prove that. Marsden was a fine lover--the best Celina had had, at least of the men she'd had as a woman, and she doubted she'd have gone through with the marriage if that hadn't been the case. But with each day and night of matrimony, it grew increasingly clear to her that no one person would ever satisfy her. She'd so far kept to her resolve of him being her only heterosexual partner, but she'd indulged in the occasional comfort of a willing housemaid, or followed up on the occasional rumor of a man who might have found her male form pleasing. Who'd known when she'd arrived in Dovia that she'd find one such man in the crown prince, of all people?

Pregnancy, alas, had kept her to one side of her sliding scale of anatomy; she may have been fickle and fleeting and easily bored, but she apparently wasn't so selfish as to risk harming the baby that way. Poor Prince Farilon was probably anxious about why Queen Medea's court hadn't sent any recent news with his favorite 'Naronian Royal Courier'. Worse yet, Celina herself... well, she did like being a woman, most of the time. But she had the rare gift of being able to switch things about! It was such a waste, not taking full advantage of every possibility!

"Ah, Danthia. There are so many things I'm not going to tell you, but let it never be said I didn't warn you that one shouldn't let one's talents lie unused."

The baby replied with a blink of disinterest as she settled into her arms. No surprise. Words, words, words. Babies didn't care about words or what they meant. No doubt Danthia didn't care so much about Celina's mouth as she did about her nipples. What an odd, likely stifling existence--not knowing much of anything, not even knowing enough to care much about not knowing, or to care much about anything at all beyond one's immediate comfort. Where did the will to live come from, when there was so relatively little to live for? Was there some innate promise of greater things to come, whispered in the womb in non-words the unborn understood?

"Well, I suppose I can at least find you baffling, and perhaps that's close enough to fascinating for now." She raised her daughter to a shoulder and rubbed her little back--and in turn, got a yawn for her troubles. "When you're old enough to find things interesting, I hope you find that interest lasts a little longer for you than it ever does for me."

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