"AAAAARRRRGHHH~~!!! IT HURTS!!"
The scream came at midnight.
Evriana had been staying in the Redwood estate for a month. The birth was expected. The healers were prepared. The room was ready.
Nothing was ready.
The labor was long. Twelve hours. The screams that came from the room were not the dignified, controlled, healer-supervised sounds of a planned delivery. They were raw. Primal. The tearing, guttural, inhuman sounds of a body being pushed past its limits.
Evriana stood outside the door.
Her hands were shaking. Her sword was at her hip — a habit, a reflex, the particular, useless instinct of a woman who solved problems with steel and was confronted with a problem that steel could not touch.
She could hear Celestia screaming.
"HELP MY SISTER NOW!" Evriana yelled at the healer who emerged from the room, his hands bloody, his face pale.
"The baby is breached," he said. "We are trying to—"
