Delilah lay curled on the cold marble floor, her hands slick with red, her breath coming in sharp, broken gasps.
Pain radiated through her abdomen not the kind that threatened life, but the kind that screamed attention. The kind she had practiced imagining for weeks.
“Oh… oh Goddess,” she cried, her voice echoing through the grand hall. “It hurts, help me!”
Blood stained her pale dress, spreading just enough to horrify without endangering her.
Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of hurried footsteps and locked instantly onto a small, frozen figure at the foot of the stairs.
Little Willa.
Delilah’s lips trembled. Then, she let her face twist into accusation when she saw guests at the party coming to help her.
“She pushed me,” Delilah sobbed, lifting a trembling finge
