Bloodthorne

Little Bird, won't you come out?

There was light; muted beyond the glow of violet egg shell, but nonetheless it caused the creature inside to shift uncomfortably within its confines. But the inner shell radiated warmth, and it would take more than the brightness outside to convince the tiny resident to break free.
It did, however, peep irritably when the shell rolled to the side and set the hatchling off kilter.

Oh, Little Bird. Don't be frightened. The world is waiting for you.

A stubborn little hatchling! The shell remained unmoving, aside from the small rock of motion accompanied by an additional sound of defiance from the decidedly non-evacuee.

Your sisters are here. Don't you want to join them?

The egg was silent this time.

Come now, Little Bird. You can't stay in there forever.

All at once, the egg shook, and a tiny yet fierce screech echoed out from the inside. The nerve! The audacity! the noise seemed to say, and the glowing shell rocked back on its curve as if the hatchling within was thrashing in rage.

My, Little Bird! What a temper. Surely you must be hungry with all that fussing. If you come out, I'll give you a treat.

The egg grumbled from the inside. There would be no bribery today.

Alright, Little Bird. I'll try again tomorrow. Rest well.

--

The sunlight grew brighter the next day. The egg rocked back and forth, unhappy with the glow penetrating through the shell, but yet the creature inside did not break free of its home.

Good morning Little Bird. Will you be joining us today?

A loud, angry peep was the answer.

I see. And when do you plan on coming out, then?

A flurry of peeps and screeches this time, all of them equally muffled by the shell. Surprisingly, the egg did not rock as it had before, but stayed very still.

You're a sharp one, Little Bird. Well then, when you're good and ready, I'll be right here.

--

The next day, the hatchling was woken from its slumber in the shell when something gently tapped the surface of the egg in three soft consecutive knocks. There was a shadow eclipsing the shell, blocking the sunlight from diffusing through, but still the little inhabitant was displeased.

It vocalized this quite loudly; so loudly, in fact, that its voice petered off with a small whine as its own screech rang in its ears.

Goodness, Little Bird. You get louder and louder every day. Do you want to come out now?

The egg wobbled slightly, but only enough for the hatchling to shift away. A petulant chirp rose from within, though this time the volume was better controlled-- sharp enough to get a point across, but not so loud as to deafen itself again.

You're getting bigger, you know. Soon you won't fit anymore.

Something akin to a growl-- perhaps an attempt at one, anyway-- was the last of the conversation. As if in spite, the egg gave a sudden lurch and rolled several feet away until its shell collided with the inner side of the nest.

--

Oh, does this mean you're ready to come out?

The following morning, the sun seemed impossibly strong-- it glared into the egg unfettered, and the little creature within groaned and wriggled when the shaft of light fell over its face. One eye slowly crept open from its place pinched tightly shut, and after a few experimental blinks, focused on the haze of shell still covering its head.
Or, mostly covering.

The singular eye, soft fuchsia in color, widened in alarm. Part of the shell had fallen off! A piece no larger than the toe pad of a Nocturne had crumbled away at some point in the night and left a web of spider-thread cracks spreading out from the gap left behind.

The little hatchling gave a mighty, indignant shriek; the force of its voice set another chip flying off into the outerworld, and the egg's inhabitant wailed at the sight.

Oh, come now. No need for theatrics. You must have cracked your shell with all your rolling about yesterday.

A whine rose from the egg's hole.

I won't force you, Little Bird. But that shell won't stay intact forever.

--

It was true; every subsequent morning, the hole only seemed to grow in size. The hatchling within the egg would wake to another piece gone, and the hair-thin cracks doubled across the violet surface of shell. Every little shifting motion threatened to break the egg entirely, so the tiny thing kept stiff and motionless whenever possible. But the fractured shell wasn't the only change. Each day, the space of its shell seemed to lessen, and it became harder and harder for the hatchling to keep its tightly curled position without feeling the twinge of a muscle cramp in its neck or legs.

This discomfort was often announced by a small, pathetic chirp.

See? I told you, Little Bird. You're getting too big.

This time, though, the hatchling did not screech or chatter out nonsensical tones of outrage. Instead a soft croon reverberated out from the egg, low and mournful. A faint wobble of motion sent another chip of shell tumbling to the ground.

The world isn't so scary, you know. I bet you'd like it if you gave it a chance.

The sound that came from the shell in response was mocking as it mimicked the syllables in a sharp, whiny pitch, though it was only halfhearted. Then, the sound died off in a small, weary sigh.

[wip]