Savin

it was not until after he hatched that they discovered the mold caked all over his eggshell had been growing from the inside.

their spawn were cursed. they knew now, but they did not care. they were selfish, they were naive; they continued to try, hoping, wishing, begging for their children to not be born into the world screaming in pain as their mother had when she bore them.

the ones with darker markings; the ones whose blood did not pulse as brightly through their skin, their afflictions were more discreet. and so he, with skin like the towering spindles of the desert, scattered across his skin like a gross imitation of the shadows of branches; with his blood sluggish as his father's once had been, the sickness in him clotting his blood and caking his lungs-- he grew up quiet and more reserved than his kin.

but, alas, he was in no less pain.

everything he touched oft rotted away within days. whereever he slept was marked with a circle of dark, mottled green.

he was cursed, and, in heavy acceptance, he slipped away from his home, and sought his grave early.