imagine the horror of an imperial couple who have been lovingly tending to a single egg, thankful that their family will remain small enough to comfortably exist together until the little one is grown, only for that one egg to produce what can only be called an infant emperor.
the parents unable to understand how such a thing could befall them, the children not understanding why their parents cant even look at them.
“mamma, what’s wrong?”
“papa, dont you love us?”
“are we not enough? did we do something wrong? please tell us how to be better. we can be better. we can be good. we want to be good. we love you.
“why dont you love us back?”
calm down there with your emotional ruining
Horrified, the parents raise their hatchling in secrecy and seclusion, until they, no… it…is barely old enough to fly, and abandon it in the Scarred Wasteland. To them, it is a hostile and blighted place populated by cannibals and mutants. Mutants just like it. They console themselves with the knowledge that Plaguebringer abhors the undead and it could survive here. Some secrets are too shameful to be brought into the Light.
For a few days, the young Imperial struggles. Then they discover that having two heads offers a small advantage. They can scour the ground looking for what is safe to eat while keeping a look out for danger at the same time. Sometimes the watching head catches glimpses of smaller, winged shapes in the distance darting in and out of cover among the rubble.
To the Mirror pack watching from afar, the conjoined twins have a perfectly ordinary number of eyes. Any additional limbs and appendages do not faze them. They eventually summon the courage to approach the huge new arrival and greet them with their usual, taciturn snarls.
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