Forty Two
Mercy returned to the birthing chamber with a fresh lavender candle cupped carefully in her hands, the faint floral scent already trying its best to soften the thick, anxious air. “How are you feeling?” she asked gently as she set the candle on the small table and lit the wick. The flame caught, trembling once before settling into a steady glow. Zaria paced slowly between the end of the bed and the open window, one hand braced against the small of her back, the other pressed protectively over her swollen belly. Her long hair clung damply to her neck and temples, skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat. “Awful,” Zaria answered with a shaky laugh. “It hurts terribly and... I’m tired…” Another contraction seized her before she could say more. It tightened like a band of iron low across her
- Writer
