A cloud of murmurs and instructions, wails, and harsh commands overwhelmed the tunnel, deafening me. I was frozen to the spot, wishing there was something more I could do. The stench of blood and amniotic fluid was strong enough that even I wanted to be sick. The birth of Sibyelle’s child became chaotic with panic and desperation. The slimy pink infant didn’t move once it was extracted from Sibyelle; its dark umbilical cord was cut perhaps too quickly. Sibyelle wept and went dizzy, barely clinging to consciousness as Lothair frantically pleaded for her to stay with them. Muriel had blood on her hands, gasping through the pain of blood poisoning to mend all that had broken in Sibyelle.
Then, the new mother fell still. The air in our collective lungs trickled out in grief to the undertones
