Invariably, it becomes cold

Not everyone can be as excited as an artist on a recording. Regina Spektor is so lovely. So fresh, so sweet, so everything. She is always glad to be singing in my ear. I am not, however, always happily receiving it, though I may want to. Sometimes even Barnibus II needs a break. He was just leaving work, where he makes a healthy living chopping heads, to head home and see his wife. He was not anticipating her being happy with him. He had recently chopped the head of someone she knew. He suspected she loved him, but Barnibus wasn't worried. His father told him how to tell if a woman is going to, or has cheated on him. Their left toe grows slightly larger than the right one. Hers had remained small and dainty, so he was unconcerned about that, but not about her mood.

Barnibus II rounded the bend (all bends are, and should be, rounded) and saw his cat lying on his front porch. It woke as it felt his presence. "Whoa there, fella (Barnibus was only a fella to Smithry his cat). Miranon just threw the baby out with the bathwater. Go check and see how it is."

Barnibus II couldn't believe his ears. Would she really let their baby die on the back porch? Maybe. So he checked. And saw. There was the baby. Red hot from the sun, looking like a blazing piece of coal. They hadn't even named him yet.
"Ha!" There came a shout from behind him.
Barnibus II was now prone to rage. He was highly susceptible as it was, but here it flowed quite smoothly. He saw Miranon. She looked gleeful. She looked like she'd proven her point.
"I have no words," was all Barnibus II could say.
Miranon kept her gaze aimed straight at him. Barnibus was tenderly approaching his child. He smelled of cooked flesh. One finger laid on the child, and the skin fell right away. Smoothed away by the least motion or touch against it like the fragile skin of a cooked chicken. This was the closest thing Barnibus II could relate it to. He yearned to pick up the child, but all he could do was feel tremendous agony and fear. The baby's eyes flickered open for a moment. Still alive. Pain showed through those eyes. It coursed through his body quicker than blood. Barnibus II decided. He marched. Right up to Miranon. Grabbed her. Pulled. Forced. Down to where the baby was. He sat on her. He took out his axe. The tool used to end so many lives. He was only quiet. Rageful, but quiet. Troubled, but the tumult was not outwardly expressed. One slight stroke, separating his child's burnt head from its disgraced body. He could not even watch. He did not. He just knew where the neck was. Miranon too was quiet. Wide eyed, seeking to escape, and quiet. Barnibus II stood up. He walked. Smithry his cat followed him, speaking nothing. Expressing nothing. They walked together until they reached the ocean. And then they stared. Just stared. Deeply stared. Wondered, hoped. Until there was no reason for them to live. And then they stopped that. Not by hunger. Not by thirst. By careful decision. They decided it was time.

Miranon lived on. For a bit. How long do you think she lasted? Precisely that.