"Y-you.. you are asking me to kill our child, Vedric. Do you know that? You.. can't .. mean .. it."

I was silent. She wanted to be like other women. I could not fault her for this desire inside of her that was innately feminine. And I... could not bear to look into her eyes, for what she had said was truth.

"If it was only me that death wanted, it would be alright!"

I was no longer silent.

"You are wrong. Athamé of the Inamorata. You are wrong to think that Death may simply have you... and that it is alright. You are mine. Mine!"

I loved her. I loved her more than I loved our child. Enough so that when faced with a choice, I knew instinctively which one I would choose. Even though I knew Athamé would inevitably hate me for it. I would rather bear her hate for the rest of my days... than to let her die.

But I had carried her for so long. And I must go on carrying her until she is able to walk on her own again. For if I fail in this... to whom will she turn? Who will go down into the belly of the grave and pluck her from Death's greedy hands?

We boarded the ship that morning. The one that would sail south. The one where we would go so that my Athamé might find another shoulder to grieve upon. For my own shoulder had turned to stone and my fair white lily whithered upon it.