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Sleep was not an easy thing to find. After her row with Stephanos she had allowed him to escort her back to her chambers, tried not to look him in the eye as he made sure that she was tucked into bed and pretended he cared how she was. Though he’d said she was wrong, that he did care for her truly, it was impossible to believe after what they had been through. The goblet, the plans to fight the Creed, the beautiful blonde that he had supposedly sent away though she had the boldness to enter his rooms from somewhere. Another encounter previous to his sudden desire to buckle down and route out the Creed. It was all nonsense. He was a good general and fighter but she couldn’t accept the risk he was taking, even as he promised to come back to her.
The pains she had felt in her husband’s rooms were subsiding. Mere twinges now compared to the sickness she’d felt before. After a long while of hauling herself back out of bed and pacing in silence, the queen finally laid back down, determined at the very least to try to keep herself rested even if she couldn’t be soothed. Her dreams were full of nightmares, images of her father and sister’s heads on pikes, of her mother and Stephanos dead before her. The nightmare held her in its grip as she was dragged forward by some unknown force, a man holding a bloodied sword turned to face her. It wasn’t quite Irakles, but she couldn’t tell who else’s features her mind had mixed in with the nightmare. With a laugh, he ran the sword through her gut, and it was the pain that woke her with a gasp.
Her heart pounded and she sat upright in fear, sweat beading on her forehead. The dark silence of her room reassured her, and she took a deep breath to calm herself but she couldn’t manage the inhale she needed. A pain pulled through her abdomen as if she had started her monthly courses, a cramping feeling she had been free of for a while that had returned earlier during the fight. Pia shifted to try to find a more comfortable position and froze as a familiar sensation haunted her. Scrambling to throw the blanket off of herself, she could see even in the darkness the stain that was spreading from between her legs. Another vice like cramp took hold and on her next breath Olympia screamed to wake the dead themselves, clutching at her stomach and trying to remember anything that would stop this.
Thoughts of miscarriages, of children born too soon, of what would happen to her if she couldn’t carry her first pregnancy to term filled her head. She recalled the one time she had seen a pregnancy gone wrong. A maid in the household had been heavy with child and fallen, Pia had been just a child herself, barely five years old, but she had never forgotten the blood and the screams of pain. The maid had survived, and she herself had been ushered away quickly by Desma but that night when she had crept to the window, she saw a tiny bundle in blood soaked rags being taken away, a little hand stark against them. That could not happen to her. It had been her greatest fear from the beginning when she realized she was pregnant, that she would be unable to bear a living son, much less living children. And after the fight...
She had lost her husband’s affections, she couldn’t lose her baby on the same day. There was no smear she could survive that, even if she lived.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Sleep was not an easy thing to find. After her row with Stephanos she had allowed him to escort her back to her chambers, tried not to look him in the eye as he made sure that she was tucked into bed and pretended he cared how she was. Though he’d said she was wrong, that he did care for her truly, it was impossible to believe after what they had been through. The goblet, the plans to fight the Creed, the beautiful blonde that he had supposedly sent away though she had the boldness to enter his rooms from somewhere. Another encounter previous to his sudden desire to buckle down and route out the Creed. It was all nonsense. He was a good general and fighter but she couldn’t accept the risk he was taking, even as he promised to come back to her.
The pains she had felt in her husband’s rooms were subsiding. Mere twinges now compared to the sickness she’d felt before. After a long while of hauling herself back out of bed and pacing in silence, the queen finally laid back down, determined at the very least to try to keep herself rested even if she couldn’t be soothed. Her dreams were full of nightmares, images of her father and sister’s heads on pikes, of her mother and Stephanos dead before her. The nightmare held her in its grip as she was dragged forward by some unknown force, a man holding a bloodied sword turned to face her. It wasn’t quite Irakles, but she couldn’t tell who else’s features her mind had mixed in with the nightmare. With a laugh, he ran the sword through her gut, and it was the pain that woke her with a gasp.
Her heart pounded and she sat upright in fear, sweat beading on her forehead. The dark silence of her room reassured her, and she took a deep breath to calm herself but she couldn’t manage the inhale she needed. A pain pulled through her abdomen as if she had started her monthly courses, a cramping feeling she had been free of for a while that had returned earlier during the fight. Pia shifted to try to find a more comfortable position and froze as a familiar sensation haunted her. Scrambling to throw the blanket off of herself, she could see even in the darkness the stain that was spreading from between her legs. Another vice like cramp took hold and on her next breath Olympia screamed to wake the dead themselves, clutching at her stomach and trying to remember anything that would stop this.
Thoughts of miscarriages, of children born too soon, of what would happen to her if she couldn’t carry her first pregnancy to term filled her head. She recalled the one time she had seen a pregnancy gone wrong. A maid in the household had been heavy with child and fallen, Pia had been just a child herself, barely five years old, but she had never forgotten the blood and the screams of pain. The maid had survived, and she herself had been ushered away quickly by Desma but that night when she had crept to the window, she saw a tiny bundle in blood soaked rags being taken away, a little hand stark against them. That could not happen to her. It had been her greatest fear from the beginning when she realized she was pregnant, that she would be unable to bear a living son, much less living children. And after the fight...
She had lost her husband’s affections, she couldn’t lose her baby on the same day. There was no smear she could survive that, even if she lived.
Sleep was not an easy thing to find. After her row with Stephanos she had allowed him to escort her back to her chambers, tried not to look him in the eye as he made sure that she was tucked into bed and pretended he cared how she was. Though he’d said she was wrong, that he did care for her truly, it was impossible to believe after what they had been through. The goblet, the plans to fight the Creed, the beautiful blonde that he had supposedly sent away though she had the boldness to enter his rooms from somewhere. Another encounter previous to his sudden desire to buckle down and route out the Creed. It was all nonsense. He was a good general and fighter but she couldn’t accept the risk he was taking, even as he promised to come back to her.
The pains she had felt in her husband’s rooms were subsiding. Mere twinges now compared to the sickness she’d felt before. After a long while of hauling herself back out of bed and pacing in silence, the queen finally laid back down, determined at the very least to try to keep herself rested even if she couldn’t be soothed. Her dreams were full of nightmares, images of her father and sister’s heads on pikes, of her mother and Stephanos dead before her. The nightmare held her in its grip as she was dragged forward by some unknown force, a man holding a bloodied sword turned to face her. It wasn’t quite Irakles, but she couldn’t tell who else’s features her mind had mixed in with the nightmare. With a laugh, he ran the sword through her gut, and it was the pain that woke her with a gasp.
Her heart pounded and she sat upright in fear, sweat beading on her forehead. The dark silence of her room reassured her, and she took a deep breath to calm herself but she couldn’t manage the inhale she needed. A pain pulled through her abdomen as if she had started her monthly courses, a cramping feeling she had been free of for a while that had returned earlier during the fight. Pia shifted to try to find a more comfortable position and froze as a familiar sensation haunted her. Scrambling to throw the blanket off of herself, she could see even in the darkness the stain that was spreading from between her legs. Another vice like cramp took hold and on her next breath Olympia screamed to wake the dead themselves, clutching at her stomach and trying to remember anything that would stop this.
Thoughts of miscarriages, of children born too soon, of what would happen to her if she couldn’t carry her first pregnancy to term filled her head. She recalled the one time she had seen a pregnancy gone wrong. A maid in the household had been heavy with child and fallen, Pia had been just a child herself, barely five years old, but she had never forgotten the blood and the screams of pain. The maid had survived, and she herself had been ushered away quickly by Desma but that night when she had crept to the window, she saw a tiny bundle in blood soaked rags being taken away, a little hand stark against them. That could not happen to her. It had been her greatest fear from the beginning when she realized she was pregnant, that she would be unable to bear a living son, much less living children. And after the fight...
She had lost her husband’s affections, she couldn’t lose her baby on the same day. There was no smear she could survive that, even if she lived.
Desma did not sleep far from her sweet Pia, being that the woman was in such a precarious position, and she was full with the fruit of life. The scream woke her up immediately, and for once in her old age she felt like a spring chicken. Spry and scared shitless that the sky was falling!
She ran into the bed chamber to see a dark stain under the glimmer of the moonlight flowing in through the window. It was unmistakably blood. She took a breathe, but swallowed it hold, cramming it down her throat and the fear that came with it. "There there sweet Pia, it is nothing to frighten yourself of." She said soothingly going to light a torch and feel the room with a warm amber glare.
"We'll put one leg here, yes dear, just so, and the other one here." She gently hiked the chiffon up and bringing the light of the torch closer gave a nod. "The baby is coming, she could tell because she was starting to dilate. Granted it was quite early, but with care, with great care, the child would survive.
"Breathe." She commanded and then stood peaking her head out to see a rather sleepy guard. "Metal head, yes you, clunk your way down to the servants quarters, tell them I need fresh linens, a bowl of warm water, and a knife! Come on click-clack, hurry!" She snapped and for a moment he looked at her incredulously, before snapping to as if she were his own mother.
Desma turned back to Pia, "Breathe my dear, just breathe it's all quite a bloody affair really." Well not the first part, but certainly the middle and the end. Still she wanted to keep the woman calm. She needed her calm. "Don't push just yet, we're not quite ready. Just breathe hmm." She wiped the hair from Pia's brow, tucking the loose strands behind her ear. "It will be ok, relax, I've done this many a time hmm...many a time." She reassured her with a calm gentle voice.
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Desma did not sleep far from her sweet Pia, being that the woman was in such a precarious position, and she was full with the fruit of life. The scream woke her up immediately, and for once in her old age she felt like a spring chicken. Spry and scared shitless that the sky was falling!
She ran into the bed chamber to see a dark stain under the glimmer of the moonlight flowing in through the window. It was unmistakably blood. She took a breathe, but swallowed it hold, cramming it down her throat and the fear that came with it. "There there sweet Pia, it is nothing to frighten yourself of." She said soothingly going to light a torch and feel the room with a warm amber glare.
"We'll put one leg here, yes dear, just so, and the other one here." She gently hiked the chiffon up and bringing the light of the torch closer gave a nod. "The baby is coming, she could tell because she was starting to dilate. Granted it was quite early, but with care, with great care, the child would survive.
"Breathe." She commanded and then stood peaking her head out to see a rather sleepy guard. "Metal head, yes you, clunk your way down to the servants quarters, tell them I need fresh linens, a bowl of warm water, and a knife! Come on click-clack, hurry!" She snapped and for a moment he looked at her incredulously, before snapping to as if she were his own mother.
Desma turned back to Pia, "Breathe my dear, just breathe it's all quite a bloody affair really." Well not the first part, but certainly the middle and the end. Still she wanted to keep the woman calm. She needed her calm. "Don't push just yet, we're not quite ready. Just breathe hmm." She wiped the hair from Pia's brow, tucking the loose strands behind her ear. "It will be ok, relax, I've done this many a time hmm...many a time." She reassured her with a calm gentle voice.
Desma did not sleep far from her sweet Pia, being that the woman was in such a precarious position, and she was full with the fruit of life. The scream woke her up immediately, and for once in her old age she felt like a spring chicken. Spry and scared shitless that the sky was falling!
She ran into the bed chamber to see a dark stain under the glimmer of the moonlight flowing in through the window. It was unmistakably blood. She took a breathe, but swallowed it hold, cramming it down her throat and the fear that came with it. "There there sweet Pia, it is nothing to frighten yourself of." She said soothingly going to light a torch and feel the room with a warm amber glare.
"We'll put one leg here, yes dear, just so, and the other one here." She gently hiked the chiffon up and bringing the light of the torch closer gave a nod. "The baby is coming, she could tell because she was starting to dilate. Granted it was quite early, but with care, with great care, the child would survive.
"Breathe." She commanded and then stood peaking her head out to see a rather sleepy guard. "Metal head, yes you, clunk your way down to the servants quarters, tell them I need fresh linens, a bowl of warm water, and a knife! Come on click-clack, hurry!" She snapped and for a moment he looked at her incredulously, before snapping to as if she were his own mother.
Desma turned back to Pia, "Breathe my dear, just breathe it's all quite a bloody affair really." Well not the first part, but certainly the middle and the end. Still she wanted to keep the woman calm. She needed her calm. "Don't push just yet, we're not quite ready. Just breathe hmm." She wiped the hair from Pia's brow, tucking the loose strands behind her ear. "It will be ok, relax, I've done this many a time hmm...many a time." She reassured her with a calm gentle voice.
He lay in the dark, close to sleep but not quite achieving it. The way his wife looked at him, fury and misery warring in equal measure across her face, kept him shifting on the bed to get away from the image. During the fight and even after, he hadn’t even promised not to make the same decision again…
And she hadn’t demanded it of him.
An hour drifted by. The moon drifted higher in the sky. He turned over so that he was facing the balcony. His body sagged into the bed and he was at the edge of sleep’s shore when the scream tore into the night.
He leapt from bed. Cold water coursed through his veins. The Creed were here.
His sword was in his hand before he’d realized he’d even ripped it from the wall. He did not stop for his shield. It was still on the floor from where Olympia had knocked it off it’s peg with her sandal. With bare feet, he dashed into the corridor and sprinted down the hall.
At first he didn’t know who had screamed and it didn’t matter. It could have been Olympia, his mother, either of his sisters, or any of the noble women who lived and served in the palace. But it was Pia’s door that stood open with light slashing across the marble floor. He was not the first one there.
Servants and guards were already converging on the room. There wasn’t time for them to gawk. He hurled into their midst, bodily shoving them out of the way. New grunts and cries of shock accompanied his entrance and before he could make it through the door, a guard clamped his hand on his shoulder as though to stop an intruder. On reflex alone, he spun around and slammed the pommel of his sword into the man’s face.
The guard dropped back but no one else reached out to stop their king, having both realized who he was and no wish to meet the same fate. But once in the room, there were no cloaked men in hoods stabbing his wife. Yet she sat in blood nonetheless.
“Out!” he glared over at the guards and servants, all staring at their queen in her distress. “OUT!” he shouted again and pointed his sword with every intention of using it if need be. “You!” one woman stopped and looked back at him. “You,” he said to another and then a third. Three pairs of round, wide eyes stared back at him and he indicated Desma. “Do what she tells you. See to her.” Here, he indicated Pia.
It was all he had the ability to do. There was no one to fight. He lowered the sword but kept a tight hold on it as he looked on. Perhaps he should go to her but their previous argument kept him where he was.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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He lay in the dark, close to sleep but not quite achieving it. The way his wife looked at him, fury and misery warring in equal measure across her face, kept him shifting on the bed to get away from the image. During the fight and even after, he hadn’t even promised not to make the same decision again…
And she hadn’t demanded it of him.
An hour drifted by. The moon drifted higher in the sky. He turned over so that he was facing the balcony. His body sagged into the bed and he was at the edge of sleep’s shore when the scream tore into the night.
He leapt from bed. Cold water coursed through his veins. The Creed were here.
His sword was in his hand before he’d realized he’d even ripped it from the wall. He did not stop for his shield. It was still on the floor from where Olympia had knocked it off it’s peg with her sandal. With bare feet, he dashed into the corridor and sprinted down the hall.
At first he didn’t know who had screamed and it didn’t matter. It could have been Olympia, his mother, either of his sisters, or any of the noble women who lived and served in the palace. But it was Pia’s door that stood open with light slashing across the marble floor. He was not the first one there.
Servants and guards were already converging on the room. There wasn’t time for them to gawk. He hurled into their midst, bodily shoving them out of the way. New grunts and cries of shock accompanied his entrance and before he could make it through the door, a guard clamped his hand on his shoulder as though to stop an intruder. On reflex alone, he spun around and slammed the pommel of his sword into the man’s face.
The guard dropped back but no one else reached out to stop their king, having both realized who he was and no wish to meet the same fate. But once in the room, there were no cloaked men in hoods stabbing his wife. Yet she sat in blood nonetheless.
“Out!” he glared over at the guards and servants, all staring at their queen in her distress. “OUT!” he shouted again and pointed his sword with every intention of using it if need be. “You!” one woman stopped and looked back at him. “You,” he said to another and then a third. Three pairs of round, wide eyes stared back at him and he indicated Desma. “Do what she tells you. See to her.” Here, he indicated Pia.
It was all he had the ability to do. There was no one to fight. He lowered the sword but kept a tight hold on it as he looked on. Perhaps he should go to her but their previous argument kept him where he was.
He lay in the dark, close to sleep but not quite achieving it. The way his wife looked at him, fury and misery warring in equal measure across her face, kept him shifting on the bed to get away from the image. During the fight and even after, he hadn’t even promised not to make the same decision again…
And she hadn’t demanded it of him.
An hour drifted by. The moon drifted higher in the sky. He turned over so that he was facing the balcony. His body sagged into the bed and he was at the edge of sleep’s shore when the scream tore into the night.
He leapt from bed. Cold water coursed through his veins. The Creed were here.
His sword was in his hand before he’d realized he’d even ripped it from the wall. He did not stop for his shield. It was still on the floor from where Olympia had knocked it off it’s peg with her sandal. With bare feet, he dashed into the corridor and sprinted down the hall.
At first he didn’t know who had screamed and it didn’t matter. It could have been Olympia, his mother, either of his sisters, or any of the noble women who lived and served in the palace. But it was Pia’s door that stood open with light slashing across the marble floor. He was not the first one there.
Servants and guards were already converging on the room. There wasn’t time for them to gawk. He hurled into their midst, bodily shoving them out of the way. New grunts and cries of shock accompanied his entrance and before he could make it through the door, a guard clamped his hand on his shoulder as though to stop an intruder. On reflex alone, he spun around and slammed the pommel of his sword into the man’s face.
The guard dropped back but no one else reached out to stop their king, having both realized who he was and no wish to meet the same fate. But once in the room, there were no cloaked men in hoods stabbing his wife. Yet she sat in blood nonetheless.
“Out!” he glared over at the guards and servants, all staring at their queen in her distress. “OUT!” he shouted again and pointed his sword with every intention of using it if need be. “You!” one woman stopped and looked back at him. “You,” he said to another and then a third. Three pairs of round, wide eyes stared back at him and he indicated Desma. “Do what she tells you. See to her.” Here, he indicated Pia.
It was all he had the ability to do. There was no one to fight. He lowered the sword but kept a tight hold on it as he looked on. Perhaps he should go to her but their previous argument kept him where he was.
The pain didn’t subside with her screams, nor did the blood vanish as Desma stood and lit a torch. This couldn’t be happening. It was far too early, too soon and if she lost her baby now she would be lost too. Perhaps she was already dying, given the amount of blood that appeared to stain her chiton and sheets. She could hear someone babbling in the background, and as Desma approached and began coaxing her back onto the pillows Pia realized it was herself.
“No, no no it’s too soon. It’s too soon it’s not time.” Noises from the doorway as her old nursemaid helped her adjust her legs drew her attention and she paled to see the crowd of people that had gathered. Guards and servants alike stood in a clump to watch her shame, to see proof of the queen failing, watching her position slip away from her as quickly as she had risen to it. Another wail ripped from her as another contraction gripped at her stomach and she had to remember Desma’s order not to push. She felt sick and faint and far too hot all at once, and there were tears rolling down her cheeks as she tried to fight back all of the sensations at once.
The furious yell of her husband broke through the fevered goans of pain and fear, and she wanted to reach for him, wanted to beg him to help her. Memories of the argument faded and now she just wanted to cling to him and beg his forgiveness. For not being able to give him a child, ask him to please give her another chance, not to set her aside now, not to shame her and throw her down once again. She fully expected it now, anticipated that if she did not die now he would find a way to get her out of his way and take the princess wife that he had wanted, find someone who would be able to give him everything he wanted.
“Stephanos...I’m sorry. It’s too soon.” Her words were broken once again by another scream as the contraction shot through her again and she gripped at the sheets as she tried to calm herself as someone around her was saying, tried not to push, tried to relax and just breathe. “Not yet..not yet..not yet. Please… not yet..”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The pain didn’t subside with her screams, nor did the blood vanish as Desma stood and lit a torch. This couldn’t be happening. It was far too early, too soon and if she lost her baby now she would be lost too. Perhaps she was already dying, given the amount of blood that appeared to stain her chiton and sheets. She could hear someone babbling in the background, and as Desma approached and began coaxing her back onto the pillows Pia realized it was herself.
“No, no no it’s too soon. It’s too soon it’s not time.” Noises from the doorway as her old nursemaid helped her adjust her legs drew her attention and she paled to see the crowd of people that had gathered. Guards and servants alike stood in a clump to watch her shame, to see proof of the queen failing, watching her position slip away from her as quickly as she had risen to it. Another wail ripped from her as another contraction gripped at her stomach and she had to remember Desma’s order not to push. She felt sick and faint and far too hot all at once, and there were tears rolling down her cheeks as she tried to fight back all of the sensations at once.
The furious yell of her husband broke through the fevered goans of pain and fear, and she wanted to reach for him, wanted to beg him to help her. Memories of the argument faded and now she just wanted to cling to him and beg his forgiveness. For not being able to give him a child, ask him to please give her another chance, not to set her aside now, not to shame her and throw her down once again. She fully expected it now, anticipated that if she did not die now he would find a way to get her out of his way and take the princess wife that he had wanted, find someone who would be able to give him everything he wanted.
“Stephanos...I’m sorry. It’s too soon.” Her words were broken once again by another scream as the contraction shot through her again and she gripped at the sheets as she tried to calm herself as someone around her was saying, tried not to push, tried to relax and just breathe. “Not yet..not yet..not yet. Please… not yet..”
The pain didn’t subside with her screams, nor did the blood vanish as Desma stood and lit a torch. This couldn’t be happening. It was far too early, too soon and if she lost her baby now she would be lost too. Perhaps she was already dying, given the amount of blood that appeared to stain her chiton and sheets. She could hear someone babbling in the background, and as Desma approached and began coaxing her back onto the pillows Pia realized it was herself.
“No, no no it’s too soon. It’s too soon it’s not time.” Noises from the doorway as her old nursemaid helped her adjust her legs drew her attention and she paled to see the crowd of people that had gathered. Guards and servants alike stood in a clump to watch her shame, to see proof of the queen failing, watching her position slip away from her as quickly as she had risen to it. Another wail ripped from her as another contraction gripped at her stomach and she had to remember Desma’s order not to push. She felt sick and faint and far too hot all at once, and there were tears rolling down her cheeks as she tried to fight back all of the sensations at once.
The furious yell of her husband broke through the fevered goans of pain and fear, and she wanted to reach for him, wanted to beg him to help her. Memories of the argument faded and now she just wanted to cling to him and beg his forgiveness. For not being able to give him a child, ask him to please give her another chance, not to set her aside now, not to shame her and throw her down once again. She fully expected it now, anticipated that if she did not die now he would find a way to get her out of his way and take the princess wife that he had wanted, find someone who would be able to give him everything he wanted.
“Stephanos...I’m sorry. It’s too soon.” Her words were broken once again by another scream as the contraction shot through her again and she gripped at the sheets as she tried to calm herself as someone around her was saying, tried not to push, tried to relax and just breathe. “Not yet..not yet..not yet. Please… not yet..”
