Mandear denounced me as barren. Stood up in the square like the wicker witch, I burned with anger they all mistook for shame. When cold night came and I remained tethered, I wept.
He came to me then, the horned one, perhaps mistaking my form for his sacrificial bride. Leather ties broken by his will, I slid into the comfort of his arms, tears forgotten, and let him make me his fertile home.
Eyes avert at my fecund strength, round, whole, His. When the child comes, I will slake its thirst with their blood, binding them to the new god.