May you rot in hell

                    the babe’s incarceration had been tolerable, quaint; yet eviction from the confines of her mother’s degenerate womb warrants protest. tiny jaws unhinge to expel incessant wails of fury, of indignance -- a prequel to the choleric temperament that is destined to plague her budding psyche. and as her mother’s tongue lathers her flesh with the warmth of her saliva, so the sovari’s lamenting sobs dwindle into faint whimpers, comfort partially obtained. it is only once she is encouraged to feast that the babe’s distress is fully quelled, velveteen nostrils quivering as she indulges in the saccharine aroma of milk. pinpointing the source, tiny jaws gape once more { although silence prevails this time } to latch upon a teat, oblivious to the birth of her behemoth littermate just inches away.