H130, Day 234, 9 AP [Wraith, Narrative]

[Uathach Blackmantle]

The door swings open, closing softly again behind a thin shrouded figure entering the room. She shuffles across the floor, glad for the warmth and comfort of familiar surroundings. Frail hands clutch at the sodden cloak gathered around her, and she shivers again, sneezing wretchedly. For a moment her eyes don't register where she is until she's halfway to the bar, passing the shell fountain, following her steps by rote.

"Hot water for a... a bath would be... v-v-very nice, B-bertram." She gasps through chattering teeth. "I'll pay... extra if-if n-need be..." Though she's swathed from head to toe in black and gray, an overpowering stench hangs about her, far stronger than usual. Traces of blood still cling to her trembling white fingers. There's a wasted look in her sad eyes as though she's seen more than she wants to recount.

Not waiting for her landlord's reply, she makes her way toward the stairs.

*****

Wraith curls her knees against her chest, watching the water lap against her thighs, and sloughs away the last traces of blood. The water was tinted red, and thin rivulets trickled down the sides of the bathtub. She would have to thoroughly scrub the tub when she was done here. Disease ran rife in the Hive, not to mention that nasty plague... keeping one's self and their surroundings clean was the best method of prevention. It didn't take a Dustman or a Necromancer to know that.

Lifting the sponge again, Wraith massages the soft pad into her skin, checking to ensure all traces were washed away. But the memory remained...

Wraith lets out a pained gasp. Her hand starts to tremble. Falling limp, her slack fingers release the sponge. It splashes into the water, spraying the sides of the bathtub, and floats away.

Drawing her knees tighter against her chest, Wraith starts to cry, soft anguished sobs that shake her whole body. She didn't want to think about it, but she couldn't help it. Her mind slips back over the events of the day...

A shuddering contraction seized the tiefling's body. Milya screamed again and squeezed Wraith's hand. Tears glistened in her red eyes and spilled down her feverish cheeks.

Wraith held the girl, barely into womanhood, smoothing a hand over her pale brow, and whispered reassuringly into her ear. "Relax, Milya. Don't fight him. Don't fight the pain. Now push!"

Milya wailed again and clung to Wraith tightly through her next contraction. Her efforts were feeble at best. Most of her remaining strength was expended on screaming rather than pushing. Another weaker contraction followed the first as the girl's body struggled to expel the babe from her womb.

Wraith's day had started off slowly enough. In fact when she left home shortly after the nursemaid's arrival, she'd given some serious thought into quitting her menial labor, and focusing more time solely on Aerin. So how it came to pass that she would stumble across this tiefling girl still remained a mystery to her. But it almost seemed like fate.

Finishing early at the Mortuary, she'd cut across Blackshade Lane on her way to the Weary Spirit, when she heard the moaning and crying. If it wasn't for her kind and caring nature she would've kept on walking, but she was compelled to investigate. That was how she found Milya. Heavy with child, the tiefling squatted on a pile of refuse and rags, half leaning against the wall, fighting to deliver her own child. One hand clutched her massive belly, and the other a long knife. Blood streaked the gleaming blade...

Wraith was drawn back to the present by the change of pitch in Milya's cries.

"I-I can't. He's stuck." She gasped helplessly. "I feel... something sharp, jabbing inside me. Artemis have mercy on me!" She screamed, and settled into short laboured breathing.

Until now the tiefling's scaled legs, wrapped from the knee down in dirty rags, were braced on the wall before her. Her thighs and torn dress were sheathed in blood and amniotic fluid. The pile of musty blankets cushioning her bottom were soaked with it. What was worse, vital fluids continued to leak from her with each minute that passed.

Nearby a few street urchins had gathered when they heard the noise, then darted off around the corner in horror. But none of the Collectors or Dustmen with their wagons had stopped to offer assistance. T'was possible that one jaundiced sod waited expectantly for another body to cart off for a few coppers.

That was the way of life here in the Hive; one scavenger living off the back of another. When one fell dozens scampered in, but not to help the ailing sod. Life was cheap, and they had their own misery to worry about.

Aside from the urchins and the dead, it was just Milya and Uathach alone in the alleyway, running off Blackshade Lane. One woman, a tiefling, supporting another when no one else was there to help.

"Milya, I beg you. Bear down!" Wraith cried. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her heart ached for her fellow fiendling's pain.

If Milya heard her, she was too far gone to offer anything but a horrid cry.

The Mortuary loomed before them, a black blotch upon the Sigillian skyline, a poignant reminder of how quickly life was snatched away. Fitting then that the girl in her arms would die here, so close to her gate home. Then you can inter her remains yourself, fetch a few more coppers to support your son, rather than dumping the boy on Hadrian and Hilathic... A raspy voice sneered in the back of her head.

Wraith flinched, almost letting Milya go. "No! I will not let you die! Now bear down!"

Slipping her arms beneath Milya's armpits, Wraith took the girl's full weight against her chest and lifted her into a supported squat. She'd seen a midwife living near the Hive do this with expecting mothers, and it seemed to work. Let the pull of gravity take over where the strength of Milya's body could not.

With a mighty heave the tiefling pushed, and continued to push. Wraith heard what the tiefling felt then as her flesh ripped, and the baby's glistening head emerged in a spurt of blood. Milya perished in Wraith's arms, an expression of torture and release frozen forever upon her face.

It was then that Wraith glanced down, at the perfect face of a child that knew more peace in death than his mother ever would. He almost appeared to be sleeping, but no breath, no crying, would open his lungs.

Two horns protruded from a crown of wet ebony hair; the source of Milya's agony. The umbillical cord was coiled tightly around the boy's neck...

[Uathach Blackmantle]

Sobbing quietly, Wraith buries her face in her hands. It didn't matter that she tried to convince herself there was nothing she could've done for the poor girl. She still felt so guilty and horrible inside. She was sure there was more she could've done, to ease Milya's pain. Both mother and child were dead now, destined for the Fire, and the image would continue to haunt her.

Wraith stares blankly ahead, just like she had a few hours ago. The tears slow to a trickle and dry on her cheeks.

After that heartbreaking event, the rest of the day passed by in a blur. Bloodstained and dazed, her steps had carried her from the Mortuary to Zero, where she sat amongst the Bleakers and the Bleakniks, completely oblivious to her surroundings. She numbly hoisted her wine, smearing a few traces on her medallion, barely tasting the watery libation; scarcely noticing it drain out through the holes in the dented cup.

It was hopeless. Pointless. Meaningless. What good was she as a physician - nay, a woman - if she couldn't even help that one girl in her greatest time of need? She failed Milya and she failed herself. It didn't matter that all mortals die in the throes of a fiendling birth. Because it reminded her of how her own mother, a victim of Graz'zt, must've perished.

Again the tears fall fast and furious down Wraith's pale face. She stuffs her fist into her mouth to stifle her cries.

Now more than ever she wanted to curl up into a little ball and die...

[Uathach Blackmantle]

The window beyond the screen hung open a fraction, allowing a cold breeze to rustle the heavy drapes. The lamp on the nightstand danced fitfully, hurling shadows across the wall and floor.

Wraith had no idea how long she huddled in the bathtub for. Any chiming from the clocktowers had fallen upon deaf ears. But as the water was turning cold, and her body was slowly going numb, it must've been a while.

Her unfocused eyes fix upon the wall before her, and she returns to her senses.

Climbing out of the bathtub, Wraith thoroughly towels herself dry and crouches before the hearth to warm her cold skin. It was then that her gaze was drawn to her hands. Her fingertips were wrinkled. So many scars... a lattice chemical burns and accidents, marking her time in the Mortuary. The rest were from her childhood.

Wraith frowns. Who was she, truly, and what did all this mean?

Slowly, carefully, Wraith begins to examine her hands, her arms, her fingers, her nails, her whole body even, as though seeing it all for the first time... but not as the beauteous vision she'd seen over the past two weeks.

Wraith bites her lip, stifling an anguished sob. Allowing her hands to slide from the apex of her thighs, to her belly and breasts, she briefly cups her soft flesh to feel the unfettered weight, and caresses the scars.

It was an effort to touch herself like this with any impartiality or affection. Then taking a deep breath, she continues her careful exploration.

Sensitive fingertips sweep over her clavicle to her shoulders, following the graceful lines of her neck to her face.

This was the hard part.

Wraith steadies herself with another breath, bordering on a pained sob. But it had to be done. She had to learn to accept who and what she was, this time in a different light.

Closing her eyes she takes her time to feel - truly feel - what her eyes often ignored. Full lips, sharp teeth, pointed chin, high sweeping cheekbones, long slender nose, tapered ears. She traces each detail into her mind, moving higher, to her eyes, her long blue lashes, the arch of each eyebrow. Her fingers sketch with deliberate slowness the skin as it merges with scales, then the hard bony protrusions.

Her horns...

[Uathach Blackmantle]

Misty-eyed, Wraith glances around her rented room - it was cleaner than she remembered - and realised for the first time since returning home: where was Aerin? Panic seized her by the throat. Dear Gods no! Not again! She cried inwardly, and started throwing clothes on as quickly as she could, without a care for how well she was dressed or what she looked like. She didn't even stop to think that his nursemaid might've taken the boy out for the day.

All she could think about was Aerin's dead face...

Fighting to stave off her tears of frustration - it really had been a trying day - she slips on her boots, and runs out the door, pausing long enough to lock it behind her. Wraith takes to the stairs, keeping a hand firmly on the rail as she runs down, past a pair of startled patrons retiring to their room for the night.

Entering the common room, she slows her pace to a brisk walk, and heads straight for the front bar. Until one of the waitresses calls out and hurries toward her. "Uathach, I was just looking for you. I have a message, from your friend... Hilathic is his name? He was here earlier and he asked me to tell you he's taken Aerin out for the day."

Wraith stops and turns at the sound of the waitress's voice, her sad eyes fixing upon the woman's face. She closes her eyes... feeling a relieved sob come to her throat, she sighs instead. Hilathic. I should've known he might've stopped in to check on Aerin. Feeling a great burden lift off her shoulders, Wraith nods and smiles at the waitress. "Thankyou, cutter. I-I think I'll have some dinner now, if the kitchen is still open. I haven't eaten much today." She pats her gurgling stomach for emphasis.

The waitress smiles and nods. "Of course. I'll go speak to Bertram." She then excuses herself and walks off, leaving Wraith to find a nice secluded table near the fountain, where she sits and reflects upon the days events.