𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 in his hands, not even a day old. He had breathed for merely an hour, cried for less. They had yet to name him, but both parents knew what would have been chosen.

Armando.

But it was not to be.

The death of Armando marked six of nine. Six had met early demise, the eldest of which living only to ten before their life cut short. Yet, even of the nine births they had endured, another four had never brought to term. This then brought the count to thirteen.

Another gone.

The death of Armando would be the last.

Swift in his efforts, the father had crossed the village, desperate in seeking the favour of the witch. Emerenzia had granted life to those before, those on the brink of death, she'd have the means to do it again.

She knew he was coming. She'd seen it time and time again. The silhouette of the man that took up the entire doorway where he stood, his arms extended in offering the small, lifeless body of his son.

"Do something."

Her hand hovered over her tomes, stretched out over the table in the middle of the room. "I cannot bring him back."

His heart seemed to break again, he could hear it shattering. "What good are you then?"

She raised her hand. "Let me finish," she ordered, straightening to face him. Her long hair was swept over her shoulders, black as the ravens that guarded her abode. "I can stop this from happening again."

His sights were still steadfast on his son. Six times he'd cradled a dying child. Six times he'd have to bury them, return them to the earth. He couldn't bare it even once more. "How?"

She didn't answer. She simply cleared another emptied crate, depositing the child to later bury, as she had done with each of the others. "Come." She pulled out a stool for him. As he sat, her hands were against his cheeks. "No more of your children will waste away," she assured him. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes, mother."

♱