The nectar of life, the sweetest scent you’ve ever sniffed, the most tempting taste you’ll never relish-- mummah’s miwkies.
You don’t understand why you can’t indulge yourself nor why your siblings get to have their fill while you sit pitifully to the side with tummy hurties and heart saddies. Ever since you opened your eyes, you’ve stated wontonly at ample miwkie places your mummah has, licking at nothing but your parched lips as you imagine your turn to indulge.
Even before you could see, your world was filled with loud yelling and painful stompies whenever you attempted a suckle. Your eyes leave their current fixation long enough to glance down at your crippled leggie, earned form a particularly daring attempt on your end.
You’ve since been dubbed the “poopie miwkie thief” and sometimes it’s almost more painful than the tummie owies-- almost. You chance one last look at your mummahs breasts, whimpering softly before your vision is obscured by a fully sated sibling, announcing that it’s “time for poppies” and signally the only source of nutrients you’ll ever experience.
idfk here’s this until i think of a full story to start writing.