Bethany
When she was born they held their hands together and watched behind windows with a fever day and night. Two months premature. A little pink, wrinkled thing in a glass and mechanized bassinet, injected with tubes and taped down like an experiment in a lab beaker. Long days and long nights uncertain. When they held her in their arms they wouldn't let go, not for years. The miracle child, they would call her. Special, most beloved. They give thanks to the savior and pour their adoration onto her. Their thoughts and their possessions all to this gift. She grows in that atmosphere with no brother or sister to partition it. No brother, no sister. She comes to understand the value of her life and its position among others. To guard against the wolves and the parasites who'd leech from her birthright and the earned merit to take pride in it. Pride in the body, in the privilege within it. They watch their princess flourish over the years, becoming the warrant and the bond between them a...