The Mother panted in her labourings, gaped like a rattlesnake

And the world trembled at her cries

Unholy was the sound as the Drone-Fathers watched her; their flesh sloughing off their skeletal frames, as the time ground on

Awaiting her and before her was the feasting, foul in its putrescence

The Icy Winds blew and heralded her ending, and the entrance of her Gift

Then all at once, the shattering of the Primordial Egg.

Up, Rise, Come. Bear witness to The Catastrophe. The Spectacle.

Come.

It is the Mother's Birth.

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