“He can delay the birth. I know he can.”
“But how can you delay it when you are already crowning?” The servant girl asks in a concerned tone. “The babe is coming, My Lady.”
The Lady pales. She turns her head, gazing out the broken windows, her expression one of horror.
“No,” she whispers. “It cannot be.”
The two moons are directly in her line of sight. Slowly, they move towards one another.
“You must push, My Lady. Now.”
“No, I cannot,” she shakes her head. Her hands are wrapped tightly in the sheets. Sweat trickles down her brow as she takes breath after breath, but not because she wishes to push. On the contrary, she is trying to keep the babe from coming.
“My Lady! If you do not push, he will die! I can see his head. He will suffocate unless…”
“He cannot be born yet!” The lady grits out. Her features strain with pain, but she doesn’t take her eyes off the window.
The light outside dims. Rheus makes his way to Rhea, covering her with his body.
“Just a bit longer,” the Lady whispers amid a cry of pain.
“You cannot wait any longer, My Lady,” her maid whispers in a grave voice. “The babe will die.”
“Let him,” the Lady mentions as she takes a deep breath. “Better born dead than born to bring death,” she adds grimly.
Her maids are horrified by her words, but they do not show it. They keep trying to keep her comfortable, wiping her brow and cleaning her body.
Rheus is now one with Rhea, perfectly fitted together.
A sharp cry erupts in the air.
The Lady gabs onto her maid.
“No… No…” she exclaims frantically, shaking her head. “Do something, please. Do not let him…” Her voice is drowned out by another, sharper one. A loud whoosh followed by a sudden infantile cry. Blood soaks the white sheets, seeping into the mattress and dripping onto the floor.
There is so much blood, the maids are horrified.
They have witnessed births before. They helped their Lady give birth to her firstborn, too. That birth was easy, smooth and quick.
This one quickly turns into a horror show.
The blood would not stop. And as it flows from between the Lady’s legs, a small body slides forward, wrapped in the umbilical cord.
The cry grows louder as no one moves a muscle. The baby writhes around, seeking to be soothed, yet no soothing is forthcoming.
“He’s a male, My Lady,” the maid informs her.
The Lady is in the verge of fainting. Shock is written all over her face. She can’t stop murmuring incoherent half-sentences.
“He should not have been born. Not now. Not now. Not now…”
The maids await her orders as they stare at the infant lying in the pool of blood.
Rhea and Rheus continue their lovemaking in the sky, and that is all the Lady can see.
The curse. The misfortune that would follow.
The death.
