The First Seal || Pelagia Nov 29, 2016 10:23:05 GMT -7
Post by Ichabod Afof on Nov 29, 2016 10:23:05 GMT -7
2nd of The Winter Storm
At Dawn in a Grove of Green Willows
Today was the day.
The voice knew it. Ichabod knew it. The girl even knew it. She had awoken with a start, groaning in pain, clutching at her full belly. "J-Johnathan--" She had cried out, stretching her arm out to the door where she wanted him to appear. Johnathan - or Ichabod, as he was truly known - hadn't been sleeping. He allowed for her to writhe with pain, to cry out, to vocalize her extreme pain and discomfort, for still a time before getting up, and 'tiredly' moving to the door. "Yes, madam?" He had yawned, stopping in 'shock' at the pool of water in the bed with the young mother.
Ichabod had hurriedly brewed a tea for her, offering her a large mug as he ushered her into the carriage he had 'liberated' from some unfortunate teamster on the road into town. He urged the horses to hurry -- the young mother believed it was for her sake, but Ichabod knew the truth. When they arrived at the grove of green willows - a common colour for common souls, who had not done great things in their lives, but who had lived and lived well - it was just before dawn. By the time he had gotten her into the grove, and beneath one of the trees, she was screaming out in pain.
Her name was Mallory, and she believed she was here to keep the tradition of bearing a child before her mother. The woman had died many years ago, and her willow was all that remained. A mere sapling compared to some of the more magnificent specimens, but beautiful nonetheless. Her child's name was to be Geoffrey, if it were a boy, or Jessabelle, if it were a girl - and it lacked a father. Still, Mallory was certain it would survive. After all, she had a doula. The handsome Jonathan who had spent months by her side, helping her every step of the way, comforting her when she was pained - and never once did he attempt to romance her, take advantage, the way other man did - the way the child's father had.
If he was as good a man as she believed, certainly she would be safe. But Ichabod was not Jonathan. Ichabod was Ichabod, and Ichabod had a job to do.
Should mother and child with blood intermixed sit in Ayniea's gaze...
And here they were. Mallory with child, crying out with the pains of labour, sitting beneath a beautiful willow. Ichabod held her hand, permitting her to squeeze it tightly. She was too distracted by pain and effort to notice that his hand was like rock. And not just like rock. His skin had transformed to its demonic hardness, his nails were unrefined diamonds. Her hands cut against him, but the pain she felt there was dwarfed by the pain in her womb. She didn't realize - as this was her first child - that her pain was abnormal. It was beyond the experience of any woman. It was so painful, because her child was dying. It was tearing her apart in an attempt to survive. It was killing her. And her body was killing it.
And all because of a few pennyroyals.
"It's alright Mallory, you're doing great. I know it hurts, it hurts for all mothers. You just have to push, do you hear me? Good. Good, Mallory. Good girl. Your mother would be so proud."