The Matriarch

"Mother?"

<sub>The Matriarch turned around slowly with the serpentine grace of a thousand long years; her tail uncoiled itself smoothly and came to rest in front of her. She clasped her hands together and stared uncourteously at the being which had entered her small den, not saying a word. Leaning forward slowly, she locked her eyes onto her child.

The Daughter stepped forward cautiously, glancing at her mother's vicious, finger-like claws and her massive visage. She bowed politely and began: "I must ask you of something, Mother." The Matriarch leaned forward further. Her face reflected dimly in her daughter's dark and quiet eyes - as she studied her own reflection, thoughts of what she used to be - what she might have been - flooded back into her mind and forced out a salty tear, which silently slid down her face and fell to the floor.

The Matriarch shook these feelings from her quickly; she was used to it. But it was still a challenge to deal with, even after all this time. More of the thoughts entered her mind, their influence spreading throughout her body. She looked away from the reflection in her daughter's eyes, but the feelings remained. She thought back a long time ago - a long time ago. She was once a woman; a beautiful woman. A human. She could still just barely remember how it felt; spending quiet evenings foraging for food with her children, embracing her husband when he returned from the fields, and sleeping soundly, without a worry in her little world. Then the plague came; and she slowly watched as her ten children wasted away to mere hulls of their former selves, and she slowly watched as they died, one by one, in their tiny beds. Soon, only her youngest daughter and her husband remained. But, alas - the plague spread with terrifying speed, and soon her husband - died as well. She buried him in the garden, next to ten other small graves. The garden soon withered away to nothing, and all that was left were the mounds of dirt, which served as a constant reminder of what had happened.

She slowly watched as her little world was torn to pieces.

When drastic things happen to people, drastic effects are incurred. In the Matriarch's case - it was, at first - a desire for death; to join her family. And even if there was no afterlife, she wagered - at least the pain would stop. But her youngest daughter was still alive, and in all her suffering and pain, the Matriarch loved her with all of her shriveled heart. She was the only reason to live. And live, the Matriarch did. She lived a long, long time - a hundred years, which is a large amount of time for any human, let alone one as wounded as the Matriarch.

And then came the time for the Matriarch to die. She lay in her bed, feeling death approaching, her daughter weeping by the side of the bed, tearfully clutching at her mother's hand. The Matriarch told her daughter that death was inconsequential. She told her that for everything she had endured, death was welcome. Her only qualm was that of the daughter herself - she was only a young woman, and could not take care of herself. There was no one that could care for her, and because of this the Matriarch now felt, to her surprise - a desire to live. She didn't want to give up and die quietly on her bed, no - things would be different. And with all of the willpower of a thousand minds, she pulled herself out of her bed, and felt life once again. Death's shadow was diffused and then extinguished by her light; and she made a vow that very day: Death would never come to her, nor to her daughter, her love.

And she kept her vow. For years, she studied, and worked, and desperately searched for a solution to death. After many years, she found her answer. She read of the ancient magics of the Proboscians; of how they lived far longer than any human, and never fell prey to any disease. The book was full of rituals, spells, and incantations all dedicated to the sole purpose of preserving one's life - and the Matriarch performed the book's instructions with her daughter every single day afterwards.

It was only until a long time, the time of fifty years, that the Matriarch realized that her plan had worked. She was supposed to have died seventy years ago; her daughter wasn't supposed to have to lived much longer. Life was good, and she and her daughter worked her farm from sunrise to sunset; a quiet, peaceful life. It continued like this for many years. All until one day when a passing trader innocently knocked on the door of her little hut- and ran from her in terror. The Matriach called after him confusedly; seeing this to be some kind of prank or joke. Then she saw a small glint on the ground in the distance, and she walked up to it slowly. Stooping over, she saw it was a small, brass plate with a handle. She flipped it over carefully. It was a mirror.

The Matriarch screamed in shock, seeing a horrible monster stare back at her. It wasn't anything she'd ever seen before. Then, she screamed again as she realized what was looking back at her in the mirror.

It was herself.

When changes are gradual, it is often difficult to see the end result without first putting things in perspective. The Matriarch hadn't noticed how her body had changed; how it had turned into a disgusting and horrifying walking corpse; and how her daughter appeared the same. She pulled at her graying skin, her rotting hair, her hollowed out face. Her body had grown to be long and snake-like; her face was the same. She then turned and saw her daughter standing behind her, who stared back dumbly. The Matriarch cried with anguish as she realized her daughter was the same way. She ran forward and embraced her, sobbing. "What have I done?" she pleaded, looking up at the darkening sky, which didn't reply. Her daughter held up two small, wooden masks with eye holes carved into it. She took one of the masks, and secured it to her own face. The Matriarch stood there quietly as her daughter did the same to her.

But that was all so long ago. It was inconsequential. Nothing could be done, nothing could be changed. The Matriach slithered forward and embraced her Daughter; nothing more needed to be said.

"What do you ask of me?" The Matriach inquired.

* * *</sub>

Here are two alternate (and somewhat inferior) designs for her:

Mother And Daughter

Matriarch II

Tools Used

- A crappy office pen that I stole from my mom's purse. She never knew.
- A crappy mechanical pencil whose lead kept breaking during the course of drawing this
- A crappy sheet of printer paper
- A weird mind
- PS7, for enhancing the scan, and adding sepia

Your thoughts, comments, critiques, and possible distaste are all highly welcomed.

Edit, 01/27/05: Smoothened out some of the shading, cleaned it up a bit, re-scanned and re-cropped