G is for Gemstone
I twirled the blackened stone in my hand. Blue light pulsed from the tiny baby, and the mother's own luminescence combated against it. I licked my dry lips before setting the stone back down.
"The baby won't feel a thing, Mari'a. It's a quick cut, and the stone will be implanted." I lied about the pain, but the stone was necessary. We couldn't live without them.
Mari'a kissed her little child. Electricity flowed between them, and she handed the child over to the nurse.
Our footsteps clicked down the blaring white corridor before we entered the equally sterilized surgical room.
The nurse set the baby upon the table while I flicked my own gemstone necklace. Blue illuminated the room. I washed. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air, and my nose wrinkled. Despite my five years doing this procedure, I'll never get used to that smell.
Our life forces met, and I picked up the scalpel. The incision was quick as was the baby's piercing cry. They had to be awake for this. Blue-black blood beaded along his neck. I worked fast, implanting the gemstone, fastening the necklace straps to it. They'd be lengthened as the child grew.
It was done.
I twisted the gemstone in place. As the baby's blue light dwindled, the gemstone changed from black to sapphire.