Albite

Mirtala was convinced she could bind any curse might befall their children, and initially, it seemed she was right. The beast that lay dormant in Feldspar did not linger over their first clutch of eggs, nor did it haunt their hatchlings when they broke free. And yet— something wasn't quite right. The trio were tiny, weak, frail beyond what any curse or lack thereof should warrant. And under the light of the moon's wide open eye, one by one, they stopped breathing.

Mirtala did that night what she had always promised she would never do. A little of something impossible, a little of something wrong, dipped into her own bloodline for a touch of what could have been and should not be. Oh, but there was nothing that could be less wrong than seeing her children breathe again. Everything as it was, these tiny lives again as they were.

Not quite.

But the consequences could wait, for another distant morning with the eye of the moon closed in sleep. Her first children would never inherit the curse of the beast, but she knew full well of what she hadn't told her lover.

There are worse things than beasts to be cursed with.