Sarita was the unwanted firstborn of a king; unwanted because she was born female. Virtually ignored by all but her mother, and barely acknowledged by her father, Sarita's childhood was lonely. Sarita became independent, being alone most of the time. She was happy, though, despite the unfairness of her situation. She loved her mother very much, for she was the only friend Seth had. When she could, the queen played with Seth, and taught her. So passed the first ten years of Sarita's life.
***
There were hurried footsteps in the hall outside her door. Grabbing her robe, Sarita jumped from her bed and opened the door.
"What's going on?" she asked a passing servant.
"The queen is in labor." He said absently to her. "Get the king!" he said to another servant. Sarita gasped, and started running to the queen's bedchamber. She burst through the door, and ran to her mother's side.
"Mother, how are you?" she asked. Her mother's face was pale and covered by beads of sweat. She nodded to her daughter, and groaned as a contraction took hold of her. Sarita found her hand holding her mother's, and they sat together as minutes passed. They seemed an eternity.
Suddenly the doors were thrust open, and the king entered. Sarita stood and curtsied, and was indifferently pushed aside. She stood by, and watched as her mother became paler, and soon she was gasping for breath. The final contraction was upon her, when suddenly her body began to convulse. The nurses and midwives were running and yelling all over the room to do something.
"What's going on?" the king boomed. "Why is she doing that?"
"She having an aneurysm, sire! Have you no doctor near?" was the reply of a midwife.
Sarita wasn't able to hear the rest, for she was being led out, and back to her own room. She sat on her bed, waiting for the news she knew was going to come. Tears burned her small face, and she hoped that at least the baby was alright. She hoped it was a boy. She buried her face into her hands and curled up on her bed, and fell asleep weeping.