A Birth
For months she had been in that room, lost, hating herself and the world around her, as nearly everyone has at some point or another. Yet through her lostness, at last the sense of dread she had felt, the need to withdraw that had passed over her, made sense to her. She was going to be forced through what her mother had...only, her mother was a far stronger woman than she could ever be.
She wasn't supposed to have the child yet, but the pangs and stabs of labor rushed over her form like psychic knives determined to break her sanity long before they broke her body. Why was this happening? She was unprepared, and worse still, completely alone.
Gasping from the pain she made her way down stairs, enough to draw the attention of someone else who was in residency at the dingy inn. The woman rushed, while her husband did his best to escort the wan and shaken Evangelline back to her bed.
The midwife was rushed into the room, and through perhaps one of the most eventful scenes that inn had in a while, a child was born to the lone mother in the top room.
A beautiful child who like an angelic statue had never, would never draw breath.
And it's mother cried: selfishly for the pain in her body, for the man she'd left behind. Selflessly for the life of her child, who would not get to have a life at all.
A Pain
It was within those next days that she was seen to, by a woman who knew she would never be paid for the duty and care she showed. As it is, often, in tragedy that both the best of some, and the worst of others is shown. As for Evangelline, she was beyond consolation. Never in her life had she been so thankful she pushed Gorlen away, safe away from what had happened, long away from the pain it would have caused. A pain she would never have him feel. Yet she wanted him dearly.
She, like a child, wanted to be held. But there was not a soul around her to do so, but a stranger.
Direly ill she stayed, weak and feeble, hardly able to move or utter sound. Often in the twilight with the candles lit in mocking gentle flame she heard the healer speak with her husband in hushed tones; The woman was worried for her. Deeply worried.
A Death
A wave of faintness rushed over her, no more than an hour after her awakening. The rose-gold dawn lit the sky for irony, as her world faded from color. Her sound was as though she had been pushed under water, and she slowly felt herself slip, fainting from reality.
The healer who dined several feet away from her knew something was wrong immediately, springing up to go to the aid of the evidently dying woman. She was losing blood rapidly, dangerously and devastatingly fast. Her conciousness faded in an out, at moments aware and in sheer panic as she felt her body go weak, her mind go numb. As the desperate healer fluttered about her like a hummingbird, doing her best to somehow mend the evidently hopeless situation.
When Evangelline faded away again, it was the last time, having died as she would have always desired to a point: A quiet exit from the world, tucked away in the dusty corner of the library of the gods, should they indeed exist to write or merely read such stories as our lives are. Yet she would not have died alone. Never have died in fear. Never have died knowing that it did not matter.
Yet....that was entirely her fault, wasn't it?
((Thank you everyone for the stories you have created with me, the chapters you have written in her short little book, and the amusing conversations that were had OOC.This post was long overdue, due to very bad writers block, so I apologize to those who I left hanging with her story, from an IC or OOC perspective! I will still check up on these forums to answer messages and read all of your great stories, and hopefully will see a few of you should I ever log onto Zanyadel. Love ~Eva's Creator))
