She is old. Far too old to be having a child. She does not doubt that this will be her last. She will not survive the babe’s birth, of this she is sure. She has lost weight. Though she had always been slender, now she is little more than a thin casing of skin over bone, her bulging belly the only testament of health upon her. Her dark hair hangs limp and tangled against her thin neck, her once pretty features drawn and haggard. She has returned here only to die.
No, that’s not entirely true. She had returned a short time ago only to be met with the nightmare that had haunted her for her entire life. And now, month’s later, she is returning to die. She would not have come at all, but she knows this is the only place her babe has even a chance of surviving. The magic of this land might grant her the life she could never hope to offer her. And whatever else one might say of her, they would never say that she did not love her children. She wishes only that she could behold her only other child once more, apologize for leaving her (even if she had been an adult by that point, no longer a child), tell her how much she loves her. But she knows that she will never get that chance. Because this is it, this is the end for her.
The sand of the beach stings her knees as she falls heavily to the earth. The pangs of labor are growing worse. Sweat soaks her dull coat as her breath comes in ragged gasps. This labor has been too long, far more difficult than it should be. Her bright brown eyes are glazed with pain as she collapses to her side. In that moment, she knows fear. Fear that her child will perish with her, unable to escape her womb.
She fights for the child, harder than she has ever fought for anything in her life. She struggles to push, to birth the babe from a body too thin and wasted to possibly sustain life any longer. Finally, as the child slips more easily from her body than her struggle would have implied, she knows relief. But she is weak. Even lifting her small head is a task beyond her ability.
She can feel the life force slipping from, her lids growing heavy, her limbs weak, her spirit light. She opens her eyes one last time, taking in the star studded sky above her. She sees her then, an achingly beautiful face she had thought never to see again. That face is older, more weary, but so much more precious than ever. She has new scars, a testament to the life she had lived. She smiles, knowing that her youngest child would be safe. One final word slips from her lips as her lids slide closed and the breath leaves her body for a final time.
“Ely.”
joythief