One by one her children, those that she was able to save, were sent far far away from where she was. She would never be able to watch them grow, never see what they would make of themselves. But it was enough to know that they would be alive in order to do those things in the first place.
She did not speak to all of them, only a small number would ever hear her voice even if they did not remember it. Some would, though her exhausted whispers would only feature as strange mutterings in their dreams in a language that they would never be able to understand. Others would hear the words distinctly, but still be unable to understand what the words were saying. Some would try to remember and transcribe the few words down and then spend a lifetime trying to translate them. An even smaller amount would find anything that would come close to the correct words.
Many would never even think about it, they would just shrug their shoulder and move on with their lives. If they even acknowledged it in the first place.
Not all of her children were even aware that they were not the biological offspring of the people who raised them. This was true also for those who raised them. Some of the parents were aware that their children came from someone else, but others believed they were their naturally born children. They had given birth to them after all.
It was a tricky balance that she had to keep in order to save the children she was able to. She always at least thought the same words whenever they were sent away.
“My children, you are more than enough to make me keep trying for freedom.”
Written for the first prompt of Season 2 in the Dungeon Prompts.
If you’re going through hell, keep going. –Winston Churchill