She could hear him breathing softly and deeply beside her. She watched his beautiful lips open and close subtly as he did so. He looked like an angel, her angel. She smiled tiredly, but deeply, and let her eyes slide shut as she curled her tones body around his sleeping form.

Jewel stood outside her master's chambers quietly listening and waiting for her moment. All was silent and she smiled deeply and knowingly. Slipping out of her red satin slippers she eased the large doors open. She surveyed the room making sure all three occupants were breathing deeply in sleep. Creeping towards the open window she watched as the breeze lifted the curtains as if they were waving goodbye. As she reached over the crib she was careful not to rock it for fear that it would creak. He awoke. His bright baby eyes boring into Jewel's knowingly. She let out a gasp. As she did she heard the shifting movement of satin sheets. Turning quickly, babe in arms, she spied the beautiful woman sitting startled in her bed, sheets around her waist, moonlight pouring over her large milk baring breasts. Jewel moved so quickly the woman couldn't move or make a sound. No longer were her breasts drenched in the moonlight, but rather in her own rich blood, cascading down from the open wound in her neck.

A metallic stench assailed his nostrils as he awoke. Coming to his senses, eyes still not ready to arrive from sleep, he felt himself lying upon cold, slimy sheets. Wondering it his newborn son had been the culprit he turned. The sight that assailed his eyes he would never forget as long as he lived. His beloved wife, lying, drenched in her own blood, his beloved… 'Miranda'.

Mary Fullbrook screamed in absolute agony as she felt her body tear open even further. She could hear Daveid pacing heavily outside the thin wooden door. She tried to breathe and stop crying but she couldn't. She wasn't this strong. She could handle the hunger, the poverty, the back breaking labour, but she couldn't even give birth without failing. She wasn't a woman. The midwife muttered a string of explanative and urged Mary into one more effort to free this child. Mary pushed, pushed out the child for which she would give her life, screaming loud enough to allow the Gods to break free. The midwife held up the child, Mary barely registering that it was a girl. She blinked as the door flew open to admit bright, bright sunlight and Daveid, agonising pain and love spread across his face. She smiled weakly at him and looked at her child, her daughter, her beautiful daughter. With her final agonised breath Daveid heard her whisper… 'Miranda.'