I was born with lightning in my heels.

Moira wakes up in the middle of Thursday night with severe pain and the certainty that she's in labor. Her maternal and witch instincts come together as one to tell her so. She spends a few minutes freaking out before she has the sense to call her midwife, a local witch she met through one of her customers soon after she remembered herself. Lila, prompt as ever, arrives nearly thirty seconds after Moira hangs up, teleporting into her living room as they agreed upon.

She spends hours in labor, clutching at the sides of her tub as Lila helps her through it, with magical and comforting words both. Above all else, Moira is terrified. Terrified that she'll be an awful mother; terrified at the sorts of powers her daughter will inherit. Terrified that anyone might try to harm her daughter because of who she is and where she comes from. It sends shudders running through her just as much as the pain does.

"You're almost there," Lila shouts at her. "Come on, girl. Push!"

---

Now the middle of Friday afternoon, Moira sits on her porch, cradling her beautiful daughter in her arms, bundled up in a lilac blanket and dozing. She's texted family and friends, of course, and she's waiting to see who shows up. Moira can't bring herself to look away; her daughter is so precious and small. She's perfect. She's still worried, of course. But more than that, Moira is entirely overcome. She has a daughter. A beautiful, wonderful daughter. And she loves her the way she's never loved anyone else before. She knows that deep in her heart.

"Welcome to the world, Bronwyn Rose Coombs," she whispers for what feels like the millionth time that day.

[ooc: Moira's daughter, Bronwyn Rose! For those curious, this is what Bronwyn looks like. Feel free to have Moira texted your pup if they're close, or to see her on the porch with Bronwyn! Open to all!]

It's early in the morning when Marina settles herself just on the edge of the water, letting her bare feet rest in the dampened sand where the water comes and goes. The sun is staggering out of the night and int the sky, casting the beach around her into an eerie glow. She has a book by her side, thick and heavy as any college textbook, except obviously older, with rips and tears all over the seams and pages. She has a topaz from one of the necklaces she owns curled protectively in her fist, and she wears a necklace made of lavender and mint leaves. Even if this doesn't work out, she muses, smirking, at least she'll smell pretty.

She found the spell Friday night, in her research. According to what she now knows of Moira Coombs, she ought to be able to pull this off, without any danger to the baby. Her hand with the topaz comes to rest on her swollen belly, thoughtful. I'm doing this for you, she thinks, because it's true. She doesn't know that she herself wants to entirely remember; but she owes her unborn child the truth, and, if she really is Moira Coombs, she owes it to Moira's sisters to remember, too.

She sighs, willing herself to relax. She drank the same chai tea Rian had before he'd read her hands to help her concentrate; now she just needs to do it, already. The instructions are easy enough to follow: raising her fist with the topaz, she holds it out over the water as she begins to read the words to the spell, written in a mixture of English and French, which comes to her from her high school French lessons.

The words blend musically into the air around her; the tide begins to pick up around her feet, whirling around her like a miniature whirlpool. She chants the incantation, repeating it the three times required, as warmth begins to cackle and pop within her, like fireworks. In the same vein, light begins to spark from her, and she worries briefly that she might, in fact, catch fire in doing this.

When she finishes the spell, she casts the topaz into the water. As soon as she does so, the water explodes, cascading around her and soaking her to the bone, though she does not feel the cold. She trembles all over as images and words spill out from all the cracks in her thoughts: her father teaching her how to swim on her fifth birthday, her twin sisters and her running together over the local playground, and her mother, when once she thought she cared about her. Moira manages one last gasp of air before the world fades to black and she falls back into the sand.

She awakens to the sun fully in the sky, and the chipper sounds of sea gulls circling around her, wondering if she has food. For her part, Moira feels groggy and unsteady, as though suffering from a hangover. She winces at the brightness and focuses hard on not losing what little she has in her stomach at the moment. And then it hits her, all at once. She's Moira Coombs; she got engaged in Europe, and she's about to become someone's mother.

And she's home, back in Siren Cove.

"Fuck!" She yells, still on her back on the sand, unsure if she has the strength to pick herself back up.

[OOC: Moira remembers! The spell itself takes place early in the morning, around four or five am. Moira herself waking up is set to 9 am. Feel free to have seen her perform the spell, or come across her still lying prone in the sand. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get Moira's shit together, but she's finally herself again! Any questions or concerns, just let me know!]

The pale blue sky catches Marina's gaze and holds it as the bus rumbles into the station. Her stomach and chest are both in knots, and not just from the child gradually unfurling within her. There's a familiarity to even the shapes of the clouds above her, as sharp and poignant as freshly fallen rain. For a moment, she has to close her eyes, to brace herself for what this town might allow her to see.

This is, of course, when the pain sets in; the aching beyond her usual pregnancy ails. Her spine stiffens at the suddenness of it, and she has to bite her lip from crying out. Behind her eyes, Stefan smiles at her as he reaches for her hand. Her breath catches as he leans in close; she can still taste the weight of their last kiss.

She opens her eyes to find several people giving her curious glances; she ignores them the way she ignores the pain in her back, moving her purse further up her shoulder as she reaches for her small suitcase. A man, not unkindly, offers his assistance as he passes her. She glares at him with the force of a hurricane.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you," she says, voice taut. She's pregnant, not helpless. He seems to shudder as he walks away. Good, she finds herself thinking.

Marina doesn't so much walk off the bus as much as she stumbles, grasping at the door to keep herself stable as pain shoots up her back and visions flash like lightning in her mind. Losing Stefan. A strange woman with a knife in her hand. A ring of children, three girls and one boy, playing in the sand by the ocean. She grits her teeth, steeling herself as she makes her way off the bus.

"Miss can I - oh my God," a woman exclaims, clamping one hand over her mouth, as though she's just seen a ghost. Tired, in pain, and just wanting to figure out why that woman back in Paris sent her here in the first place, Marina is not here to be treated like some kind of spectacle.

With another glare, with what feels like embers churning in her gut, Marina promptly turns on her heels, struck with the desire to get as far away from this station as possible.

Instead, she falls to her knees, overwhelmed by her own body and the pain this town already seems to be causing her.

[OOC: Moira returns! Again, at the moment, her memory's wiped and she thinks her name is Marina. She could definitely use some help. For more details and if you have any questions, see this post and this
post. Open to all!]

In the wake of the Crabs attacking the beach (and Moira still can't believe that's not a euphemism), especially during the End of Summer Bash, has left the place a complete wreck and covered in trash. And considering how just about everyone in her life is, rightfully, admittedly, pissed off at her, Moira is out in the sun, doing her part to help clean up the debris. She's both utilizing actual trash bags and using magic to get the job done, making sure to leave everything thoroughly looked over and tended to. It hurts, to see the beach in such a shape. But not as much as her own life hurts currently.

She figures, if no one wants to talk to her except to yell at her, the best thing she can do is to be of use, if not to her family, than at least to the town. She's been up since dawn, throwing up violently, even with the new tinctures and potions she's been trying; she'd made her way to the beach then, throwing herself into helping with the volunteer efforts. She's going to find a way to make things right, she tells herself. She has to. And so far, she's been keeping at her work, undisturbed by anyone.

She'd stupidly forgotten to cast a glamour on herself, to avoid the obnoxious press.

She regrets it the moment the woman steps forward and shoves the microphone in her face.

"Moira Coombs! What do you have to say for the fact that you look like the spitting image of your ancestor? Planning on cursing any other towns soon? Is it true you disappeared in conjunction with your mother to help her leave the country?" The reporter's voice rings out like nails on a chalkboard.

Moira pales, wondering how her unfortunate discovery about Viviana could be found out so soon; she internally curses when she realizes how foolish she'd been to come out without a disguise.

She wishes she could say something in reply; she wishes she could tell the buzzard to go fuck right off into the ocean.

But all she can do is wince, before turning and running in shame.

OOC: If your character hasn't gotten a chance to tell Moira how much of an idiot she's been, here's your chance! But she can also really use a friend right now. And, of course, people she doesn't know are always welcome too. Catch her running from the paparazzi who's just discovered that Moira is the spitting image of Viviana Coombs.