Chapter Text
(December 17, 1984, 7:52 p.m. New York City)
It was never her fault. She didn't ask to be born into this unforgiving world, but sometimes mistakes happen. The doctors that were working their shifts that night will tell you that it was the coldest time in history. That Jack Frost himself was not capable of such wickedness. What they will also tell you is that they remember screams pouring out of a certain room. A woman, with a name and face they cannot remember, was giving birth. Something they do remember about the woman is that there was no father and that she may as well have been no mother herself. The second she became pregnant and told her love, he left her, and for that she cursed at the small life inside her. How could she love the thing that cost her the love of her life? She couldn't. For seven months she swore never to love the child, and once the baby was born she stared at it with a chill colder than the night itself.
"It's a girl, five pounds and two ounces!" Announced the doctor to his nurse over in the corner scribbling the information down with a small smile. Even when the girl was born she never cried, for then she did not have enough air in her lungs. She was born two months early which was far too soon if you ask the nurse.
"You're lucky to be alive little one," the doctor coos with fondness , "you were so eager to see the world weren't you?" The baby blinks her sleepy eyes at the doctor who has now turned to the woman laying in bed. "Congratulations, Ms. What name have you chosen for her?"
"I haven't." She responded, her voice laced with disgust.
The nurse and doctor glanced at each other, "Would you like to hold your daughter?" The doctor questioned smiling down at the child resting in his arms.
"I have no daughter. That thing ruined my life! Why would I ever want to name it or let alone hold it?" The woman spat. The room fell cold and silent except for the buzzing of the machines. "Get that thing away from me." She growled, her eyes throwing daggers at everyone in the room.
The doctors eyes widened with an acute horror, "Lana," he cleared his throat for the nurse, "take her to the nursery. Make sure to put her in the incubator. She is not strong enough to produce the body heat on her own."
Nurse Lana crosses to him and lifts the child out of his arms, "Yes, Dr. Munoz." She exits into the hall so that the sleeping baby would not be woken by such hatred. "I'm sorry, sweet one." She sighs and enters the nursery. "No child, especially one so sweet, should have to endure someone like that. Sweet dreams." Nurse Lana whispers while placing the infant in the incubator.
The doctor was right. She was not strong enough to emit her own heat, nor was her heart strong enough to continue to beat, or her lungs to give her gentle breaths. Yet, maybe by chance or by miracle she lived through the coldest night. And there is nothing more terrifying than a miracle.