Chapter Text
This is a vile thing to do.
Good morality's voice tries to warn Celine. Tries to remind her that no deity of the Tuatha Dé Danann would harm an innocent soul. But caution can't be heard over the screeches tearing through the night.
When the war was won, she should have celebrated with the other gods - danced across the battlefield to return to utopia, the Otherworld.
However, there she was, screaming grievously in a cave by a corpse who used to be a friend a lover hers.
In the little clarity that heartbreak allowed, Celine realized that the nearest male fomorian body had been a dirty secret and father of an even dirtier one; the patterned newborn that dared to hold an uncanny resemblance to Mi-Yeong.
If the world weren't crumbling and crushing Celine's soul beneath the debris, she would have known better. She would have done better.
But it was and she didn't.
Wailing in blind rage, she flings the monstrous infant a godly distance. Away from the cradle of dead arms - the parents killed by both fomorians for their treachery after found hiding from the battle.
If Celine could hear anything other than her hoarse howls, she would have heard the splash and saved the baby - mortified that she caused the need for a baby be saved.
But she couldn't so she didn't.