Duru's Memoir

by Punk19

Before Master Vile, and his father, KurukVile, there was DuruVile and this is his story.

1. Prologue: The Birth of an Heir

1:45 a.m.; Gamma Vile—Raal's Residence

Loud moans, mild screams, and yelps of pain reverberated down the stone hallway. While the sounds bounced from the metal torches, they didn't cause anything to fall or break. Even though they were loud, and everyone in the house heard them, they weren't given a big reaction—an example of this occurred when the four Goteian, or goat-like, women looked up. All the women did was look around before returning to work; if not for two of them knowing why the calls were being made, and having experienced and gone through them twice while working the building, they wouldn't do this. The same went with the other women, who were warned about them.

The one who was making the calls had come in two days ago. Along with being very round, she was fatigued. The maids knew she was eight months, three weeks, and two days along with child—with this being known, they weren't surprised to hear that she woke to find that her water was broken.

Due to the scream that the woman expressed after seeing what she did, her fiancé was thrown out of bed. Their employer came close to jumping from his and his wife's bed, while most of the staff were aroused from a sleep that seemed much too light. As was only natural, the woman was lifted from where she was then carried to the chamber where she was to give birth in. The fiancé was doing as any other man would in pacing before the door to the room that his woman was in; the maids knew that he was trying to keep himself from gnawing his fingernails off.

"How long has she been in labor again?" the younger of the maids asked in a low whisper.

"Two hours," the older of the maids replied. "There's no telling how long she'll go before the baby's born."

"Let's hope, for our Master's son and daughter-in-law's sake, it won't be much longer." the second oldest of the maids spoke. "Eleven children is a lot, and they've not a one to account for."

"Going by her birth-calls, it'll be a while more." the older of the younger maids said. "She'd be raising the roof if she was closer to delivery."

2:01 a.m.; Outside of the Birthing Chamber

His mind was assaulted as he did his dance before the room that his woman was in. While most of his thoughts were on his beloved, the rest were on the child that she was carrying and what may or may not happen when it was born. He was very aware of the fact that, if she gave birth successfully, he'd rip the door back then rush to her; after reaching her, he'd see their newborn then experience what he did when his other surviving children were born. The fact on what he'd do if the birth wasn't successful was known too—if it happened, he'd go in normally then go to her. After reaching her side, he'd do his usual in giving her comfort over losing yet another child; while doing so, he'd give himself comfort too.

"Our arrival here... it wasn't normal." ShaamVile thought.

Hasty was more like it. If not for the heavy rains, and sudden whirlwind, their property wouldn't of become unstable. With their home not being safe to live in, they had to move and fast; while his fiancée tried to help in packing their stuff, her belly, and the baby that was in it, prevented her from doing much. He did most of the packing before grabbing her then fleeing to where they were.

His father was very willing to let them stay. The storm was still happening when they arrived, but it wasn't as bad as it was at their place. When they reached their destination, he found his fiancée as being too tired to move much less stand; with her being so fatigued, he took the bags in then returned for her. After entering the house for the second time, he took her to the room that they were given then set her down. He dried her while talking to her then put her in bed. He should of known that the birth would be sooner than expected—shortly after waking on the morning following their arrival, she started refusing the intake of food and drink. She also wanted to only sleep. He had spent most of his time with her; with so much happening in the last forty-eight hours, he was worried about her.

While a normal man would think about his unborn child's gender, he didn't. With him and Egla going through eleven prior pregnancies, which all ended in failure, he didn't dare think of the gender, or of what it was to be named after being born. Naturally, two names were picked—unlike the last time, where he was allowed to name their unborn, Egla had dibs on naming this one. Detassa Awaha for a girl and Duru Bolushi for a boy; while he detested the middle names for their child, and wasn't too keen on the first or given names, he couldn't do a thing to sway her from giving them to the child that she carried.

Other than AenalaVile Daiba Surfeit, his third child by his first and only wife, who was born deceased, and EpuvinaVile Dlai Surfeit, his fourth child by his first fiancée, who was also born deceased, he had no D-named offspring. A D-name located in the middle of a person's name was often over-looked, while the first was what one knew and spoke the most; Detassa and Duru just didn't seem that strong a name to him. He had created so many offspring over the many thousands of years and, sadly, he only had two survivors. If this one survived being born, and then the first twenty-four hours, he'd be ecstatic. So would his beloved, who wanted to be a mother but was also dragged down by her grief over so many failed pregnancies. If this baby didn't make it from the womb, he'd be doing as he promised he would.

Bye bye testes. The holders of the juices. The factory machines that made child-bearing possible. He promised just prior to this pregnancy that he'd snip them if their next child was born deceased, or passed shortly after birth. While his fiancée seemed to now want him to cast that promise to the side, he still wished to uphold it. His Egla meant the Universe to him; he'd lick her feet, then the floor that she stepped on... he'd jump into a pool of air-less water if she said for him to. She was his everything... to see her so depressed over their lack of having healthy, living offspring was horrible. Eleven pregnancies, spanning over nearly twelve thousand years, was too much for a woman to handle. Like with Egla, he grieved them babies. The lost chances to be a parent. The lost chances to hold, care for, cry, and then smile and cry some more, over the children that they produced together... It was too much for a man to handle as well, though he did try his best to handle it the best he could.

"It's a struggle, Shaam. Why force me to endure another when I've already shown that I can't have any?" his fiancée said about fifty years after their last child was lost.

His fiancée , he remembered, went on The Pill right after their last was lost. The Pill was a new thing on market. It was said to prevent a woman from getting pregnant; it was also said to have a number of side effects to it, and not work for some women—with this being known, he detested her use of it right away. In his mind, there were other ways to prevent a pregnancy from happening—the jockey-sleeve, or thing that he could fit around his penis during intercourse, for him for example. His beloved hadn't listened to him; the Pill was bought in plenty then taken once-daily. After fifty years of the dreaded thing being taken, he started the gentle process of asking for another try.

"You're not the cause of our last's demise, MiLass." he returned. "That scissorbill of a papa of yours was what caused it."

Their first child was in the womb for nineteen happy weeks before perishing. His fiancée's parents were the cause for it to happen. They came to his residence without getting permission first, then a fight happened. Horrible words were spread, then a physical brawl happened. His fiancée's father took his shoe from his foot then threw it at her. Ten hours later, she found a bloody bundle between her legs. Burying that one was tough on both of them; the next child that they conceived was only in the womb for ten weeks before perishing. Like with the prior pregnancy, his fiancée's father was the cause of it happening. He caused her stress all during them ten weeks, and she lost the baby because of it.

Their prior pregnancy was also lost thanks to her father. He was outside, and dealing with one of his mares, who suddenly gave birth then turned on her newborn, at the time. A scream was heard, then, shortly after, one of his staff came running out to grab him. His fiancée and her father were fighting by the stairs, he was told; his beloved, who was dealing with the woes of pregnancy, had thrown her arms at the man, who stepped out of the way to avoid her assault, then she fell down. Lorboriann, the scoundrel who shouldn't of been in his place to begin with, was at her side. Though acting like a concerned parent, his face had worn a shroud of triumph. Their last was lost five hours later. Miscarriage due to the stress of her fall.

Lorboriann and his bitch of a wife had never liked him. They were out to keep him from their daughter from the start, and they also did their best to keep their daughter from shaming herself, and them, by giving birth to a child that he helped to make. No sympathies were shown between the two when they lost babies; they had, in a way, looked perfectly content in knowing that their attempt to have a child was a failure. He sometimes wondered if they weren't the cause for their woes in the parenting department.

"One more, Egla. One more, then I won't pester you anymore." he said. They were in the kitchen, and at the table, when this talk occurred. "I'll have them cut if we lose it, or its born still, or is alive then passes shortly after the birth. I'll do the procedure with you in the room, if it makes you happy."

"I can't ask for you to do that." his beloved replied. "I love you the way you are. You'll be a changed man if—"

"I'll still be the same without them," he returned. "Egla, while a man holds his boals high, I'll be fine without them. Your happiness is what's important to me."

"No, you won't. What oaf do you take me for?" his beloved shot. "I wasn't born yesterday, or on Stupid Street, Shaam. I know you all too well."

It took another ten years before she said yes. Baby number twelve was conceived soon after she agreed to his plan then, at around the six-month mark, she started trying to get him to drop it. Though wanting to—a man wasn't a man without his units, and he was rather attached to his—, he also wanted to ensure his loyalty to her. Lorboriann and Amjufaria knew nothing of this pregnancy—if they were the cause of their continual pregnancy losses, then, maybe, by keeping them in the dark, this one would live and be healthy.

"How much longer?" ShaamVile wondered. "How much longer before the scream of despair, or a baby cry, is heard?"

5:35 a.m.; In the Birthing Chamber

"Ow, ow, ow!" Egla groaned as she paced the room.

"Keep walking, dear." her mother-in-law said. "You're at six now; the more you walk, the faster you'll dilate."

That's what she said an hour ago... And the hour before, and the hour before... She was starting to wonder if something was wrong. Was the baby positioned right? Was it too big to pass through safely? Was it alive? Was she not dilating enough because it was dead—was her body sensing that, and keeping her from giving birth because of it? Three days ago, the baby was a kicking machine; as of the last two days, it was still. She felt no movement... no signs of life. She had kept this from her fiancé; he was so determined to keep his horrible promise in getting her testicles cut after this one was born—she didn't want them to be harmed, or for him to be changed. She loved him; like her fiancé, she was totally devoted to him, and would do anything for him. Nearly twelve thousand years after their first meeting, she still felt so much love and affection for him. The loss of babies, while hard on the both of them, hadn't caused a break in their love or affection for one another. Though wanting to be a mother, and annoyed over the loss of so many babies, she still wanted to be with him, and be the mother of his children. If he had the procedure done, she'd be lacking one of them desires. How could they have babies if he wasn't intact between the legs?

While she knew she'd still love him regardless of the procedure being done, she was afraid that he'd grow fat and uninterested in her. She had heard stories of how men got after their balls were cut—they got fat, slow, and uninterested in their partners... she didn't want that. She wanted her man to stay the way he was—the muscle; the machine in the bed; the ever loving and affectionate; the conqueror... she wanted all of that to remain intact. Didn't she have good example in her beloved's younger brother? The poor man was rendered unable to produce some two thousand years ago; he had no ambition to do anything, and his movements were slow and mechanical-like. She didn't want that to happen to Shaam. Shaam must remain the way he is; she'd fight him and hard, regardless of the outcome of this.

"The baby's fine. It was just sleeping—taking in a good nap before being born." Egla thought.

Her fiancé's personal physician was keeping tabs on this pregnancy from the start. There were plenty of sonograms in the top drawer of her dresser, and there were also the two video's that showed her baby moving in the womb in her jewelry and wardrobe room. The crevice that was in that room was full of all sorts of things—photographs of her and Shaam, their children, of them with their children, a bunch of diaries, etc. Would all of what was in her dresser be added to that stash, or would it be put it in a book? There were two books in that room, and both were made by her—one was pink, and had a white lace trim border and decoration, while the other was blue, and had a silver lace trim border and decoration.

Would a DetassaVile Awaha Surfeit be added to the name-tag of the pink book, or would a DuruVile Bolushi Surfeit be added to the other book's tag? She and Shaam had a thing going on with the naming of their children—they'd be fair in naming them; she'd name one, then the following one would be named by him, and so on. With the loss of their prior pregnancy, she wasn't able to pin or think up any names—with it being in her womb for only five weeks, she wasn't able to do much of anything to prepare for it. Technically, her fiancé was suppose to be the one to name their current unborn.

"It's your turn, Shaam." she remembered saying.

"While true, here's a truer fact—you didn't have a chance to name or even bond with our prior baby. You have this one by default, MiLass." her fiancé said.

"That's not fair to you."

"Neither is me placing a name to our current baby when you weren't allowed to do that with our prior one."

After having a little talk on who had the right to name their current baby, she picked out two names. She knew he didn't like the names that were picked but she thought they were lovely, and suiting. Detassa had a pretty, feminine sound to it; it'd go well with her fiancé's surname. Duru was a strong name that could be used by one of the male gender. Neither were used by the general public—the Surfeit family went by names that were either rare or unheard of; those two sure fit the buck. She wanted her young to follow in that tradition.

"Ow!" Egla screamed, then ducked down. Her long, white hair touched the floor; her back arched towards the ceiling; she clutched at her belly, then stood up. That contraction was a bad one! She was feeling them at every five minute intervals; why wasn't she dilated more?

While the experience of feeling the pain was good, she told herself to think about something else.

The storm that brought them to her in-law's residence—she latched onto that. The storm, its howling winds and wind-swept rain, and the whirlwinds... Her fiancé said that it'd not be a bad one, yet a whirlwind struck the western side of his property before doing damage to its middle. She was asleep at the time; waking to hearing the roar of the whirlie was horrible, and her baby was just kicking so much... It was like it was trying to get to a safe place. Shaam and she were in the eastern side of the property. Safe from harm, but not for long—the whirlie made it so his property was unstable, so they needed to get out and fast. She had tried to help but her fatigue, and frantic, stressed baby, had prevented her from doing so. Could the storm of done something? Made her baby get so stressed that it had a heart attack while in the womb? Could babies have heart attacks before being born?

The man who sired her fiancé let them in with no fuss. He just said for them to come in, settle down, then get some sleep. The man's wife had said something about her looking "ripe" after seeing her the morning after their arrival. Had she, who gave birth to three children herself, known? Did Malakay know that she was to give birth and soon? Raal and Malakay were fine in-law's for her; very caring, polite, understanding... So unlike her parents, who took one look at her fiancé then marked him. They didn't like, or see the good in him; they just looked at him with hate and disgust, which was so unfair. Just because the man was older than her, and was a conqueror, didn't mean that they should be so mean, cruel, or heartless towards him. Her beloved was as gentle as could be; while he had a temper, and used it when the time was right for it to be used, he was quite sweet and gentle. A classic example of a proper gentleman. Tell that to her folks and they'd sniff then say otherwise.

"See all the good in that man you want, I'll never see it. He's nothing more than a cradle-robber to me. Takes my daughter when she's not even out of her teenage years, gets her pregnant not soon after then starts her down this path of hurt." her father said sixty years ago.

"He's a good, sweet, gentleman." she insisted.

"You don't know what a "gentleman" is," her father sniffed. "If you knew what one was, you'd of left that fool a long time ago."

"I do too."

"A gent is a man who let's a woman mature—grow up, and experience and enjoy their late-teenage years. A gent isn't so toned in to his sexual desires; he's got a good head on his shoulders, and has good control of himself. A gent is someone like me; that lummox is the opposite of me, Girl."

Her arms rising... ready to strike the man who dared to speak bad of her beloved, were seen. Her father turning, then stepping away from her... The loss of her balance, then trip down the stairs. The look that was on her father's face after she looked at him after finishing her fall... The pain, followed by her scream...

That was a horrible thing to think about! She stopped thinking it immediately. Why was she thinking about the event that cost her the life of her and Shaam's eleventh child anyways? She shouldn't be thinking or recalling bad events; she should be thinking about good things.

Something happened after they arrived to her in-law's place. A feeling had fallen over her. While her beloved retained that sweet side of his, she reacted rather coldly towards him. Instead of speaking to him, or embracing or touching him, she stayed quiet. Or slept. While she was ravenous, she had no ambition to eat—this started soon after waking on the morning following their arrival; why? Did labor start, or did something happen to her baby to make her slide into a depressed state? Waking to find the bed that she and her fiancé were given to sleep in wet and a little bloody had scared her... it scared her fiancé too. Shaam was thrown from the bed thanks to her. Was he okay? She tried to ask him if he was and she was prevented from doing so.

Along with jumping out of his bed, her father-in-law came running to their chamber right after her scream was expelled. Her beloved, dressed in nothing, had taken her from the room then carried her to the chamber that she was in. Malakay had joined her right after she was in it.

Where were her beloved, and father-in-law? Were they pacing the hallway that was outside of the room, or in a different room? Were they talking? Was her father-in-law trying to calm her fiancé, or just dealing with himself? What were the staff, who were awake, and doing things in the house, doing? For all of a week, she had done nothing but clean her beloved's place. Her beloved had insisted on her letting his staff do the cleaning, and she insisted on his leaving her be; why had she done that? She had never done the frantic cleaning thing before. Not once during her other pregnancies had she gone on a cleaning spree.

So many questions bogging her mind, and so many fears and worries tugging and turning her. She continued to pace the room for a few more minutes then, after feeling the sensation of something drop in her stomach, she screamed then collapsed. Malakay, on instinct, ran towards her. She was helped to her feet then assisted to the bed at once; the call for the physician was done a few minutes later.

6:09 a.m.; Office

The call for the physician was done a half hour ago; Malakay's concerned, but is keeping it to herself; and Shaam's about ready to dig a hole in the floor—that was what he was thinking.

The storm was bad... From what he heard, fifty ground-to-sky whirlwinds, over thirty properties damaged or destroyed, ten souls lost, and about five billion in damages occurred because of it. He wouldn't be surprised to find that a lot of women gave birth after it—it was enough to scare the umbilical cords from any well-formed or to-term baby. Finding out about his son's property being near the heart of the damage path was terrible; thoughts of him lying under a bunch of debris, or being horribly, if not fatally, injured, and thoughts of Egla being injured so far into her pregnancy, or losing her unborn child, had run through his head right after he heard the storm report. Luckily, for all of them, none of that happened. His son grabbed, then filled four suitcases before grabbing his family and fleeing.

Ring-ring; who's that at my door at this hour of the night? Why, it's my second oldest son and his woman. The property that they're living in—5,000 square feet; with a stable, large garage that's big enough for fifteen cars, an S-shaped pool, more than enough pasture for the horses, and three gardens—had all but been leveled by one of the whirlwinds. Can we stay with you until the property's either repaired or the other one that I own is prepared for residency? Why, of course! Bring yourself, your bags, and that heavily pregnant woman of yours in. Make yourself at home.

All was well and dandy for a few hours then little notices of his son being a no-show were seen. Where were Shaam and Egla? Were they okay? A quick check had shown that they were; he and Malakay had worried about them, but they gave them their much-needed space. His wife had said something around the area of thinking that Egla was close and, as good as her word was, she was. His daughter-in-law had gone into labor sometime last night; a baby was to be born under his roof soon—would their curse be broken, or would another heartbreak happen?

"They have such terrible luck," RaalVile remembered his wife saying. "Eleven babies. Eleven pregnancies with no children to run their halls."

"They're a strong bunch," he returned. "Egla especially so."

"Hopefully, they'll have it good and easy with this one."

He hoped so. He hurt as much as they did; eleven grandbabies conceived and not a one to dote on or see grow up. He shook his head as he remembered them all.

A miscarriage claimed the first, and then secondth. The third, a boy named BuvotVile Couver Surfeit, was born with the cord wrapped around his neck twice. All efforts by his son's physician to get him to breathe were fruitless. A girl, who was given the name of EszissVile Sholie Surfeit, was born next; right from the start, they knew she wouldn't live long. Some of her internal organs were outside of her body. The next baby, who was given the name of AlaborieVile Beragi Surfeit, was thought of as a boy all throughout the pregnancy. Even though she was born alive, she lived for only twelve hours before passing; her colon wasn't fully formed. The next baby was another girl; she was given the name of UkaeffaVile Fluef Surfeit. Unlike the other babies, she was big. A bit too big, actually—due to her size, she got caught in the birth canal then suffocated. Nothing on his son's physician's part could save her. The next baby born to the pair was given the name of TrawajiVile Egareo Surfeit. Sadly, he hadn't had a chance in hell; the placenta ruptured at thirty-five weeks, and the cord was wrapped around his neck five times. Like with Ukaeffa, nothing on the physician's part could save him. Little ShilaVile Eether Surfeit had entered the Universe without so much as a gasp or peep. IrikirVile Chabor Surfeit, the next baby bore to the pair, was very badly deformed—so much so that a gender could hardly be determined. There was no reason for why little TaelaVile Tarali Surfeit passed away; she was fine up to when Egla's labor pains began. Egla's last pregnancy ended in a miscarriage and now there was this one.

Would this pregnancy end in success, or would another baby be born deceased? Would the baby's organs be fully formed, and be inside of the body instead of out of it? Would a cry be heard, or would there be silence?

His physician was a good man, and just as professionally trained as the rest that he employed. If anything happened, he was sure that he could correct it. Why, the man saved his oldest child by Makalay—Riki was in breach position; the physician righted him before pulling him out. A cry, a gasp from him and his wife, then on to happy parenthood.

"This is number twelve. You know that, right?" he remembered asking his son after hearing that Egla was pregnant again.

"Yes," a nod was given. "We have an agreement with this one: if it's lost, or born deceased, or dies shortly after being born, I get myself snipped."

"Uh, get out of my face!" he grimaced. "Serious now, you don't have to let your sorrow do that. Retain them things, Shaam. Just because you've had it rough doesn't mean you have to go cutting anything that you need."

"I don't need them. I've had two daughters—"

"Must I remind you that—"

"I'm the last able-male to keep the family running. Yes, I know. I still call you on that." his son said. "You're still around, and able; why don't you make some more babies?"

"Because the line needs fresh blood in it." he replied.

He was trying his best to talk his son out of it. While he hated to place the burden of family continuation on Shaam's shoulders, what he said then still went now. While he could continue the line, the line did need fresh blood in it. He couldn't sustain it by himself; he needed help.

His oldest son was out. He was a complete bust in the bed. Completely infertile. Riki was also out. The enemy had really done him good with that damn pike. Olia, Varai, and Vlala were girls. Of the three, two were married; Olia and Varai's names had changed to that of what their spouses had, so they couldn't continue the line. Same went with Vlala, who was currently single but looking for companionship. Shaam was his only able son; the line's continuation was squarely on his shoulders. If them balls went, so did the line.

"Unless that baby's a boy, and survives the birth." RaalVile said. "While one son would help the line, two or three would uphold it for sure. Shaam's nuts would still be needed after this one's birth."

His line was an old one. The oldest known on Gamma Vile, and in the M-51 Galaxy, for that matter. Over a million years old and now, sadly, encountering problems. Too many girls were being born. At one time, the gender ratio was tipped more in favor of sons than daughters; now, it seemed that they favored daughters more than sons. The line must be saved by a male. The Surfeit name had to be passed and kept alive by a male member, not female. He'd do his best in the next few months to years to keep his son from doing that procedure; Shaam was his healthiest and most well-known son... He had to keep going, and reproducing.

He didn't dare think about asking his son to break his engagement to Egla. Shaam adored the girl, and she adored him. To ask them to separate was like asking a safe to be dropped on one or the other's head. While, at first, not favoring the relationship, he had to agree that it was both solid and good. The only thing missing were the kids.

"He's had a lot more success with Egla than with the other women that he's been with." RaalVile thought as he "played" with the room's globe. "Of the seven babies that he and Nicolia had, only one survived to adulthood. The same happened with Bikare, who bore him six children."

What told success in pregnancies was the birth of healthy, living babies. His son didn't have that with any of the women that he was accredited to. The one thing that he had with Egla was how strongly attached they were to one another. His son's first, and only, marriage was nearing its end when Ebaisha was born and the same went with his son's first fiancée. While brought down, and dragged through the tube of depressed hell, his son and Egla's love for one another was still strong. Let them heal after this one's born then try again, he thought. Not wait fifty years like Shaam did to ask Egla for another attempt; wait around a hundred or so then give it another try. Have a doctor or two live in their house, and have them look after Egla from the time the spheres rose to when they set. Have Egla be on bed-rest from the start of her pregnancy to when she was ready to deliver or something.

Zing. Zing.

He grabbed his cellular—a device that, one day, would be invented and then used by the Earthlings, who hadn't even evolved yet—then flipped its bottom down. The white screen showed an envelope, which he pressed. A message showed up afterwards.

"The lightening happened thirty minutes ago. Egla's pushing against Zinjus's order."

6:25 a.m.; Outside of the Birthing Chamber

His father's office was right across from him. He could see the man... he was staring at the door that went to the room that his woman was in, and at him. His pacing had since stopped; Zinjus Aredock, his father's personal physician, had gone into the room a while ago. Screaming, and a lot of it, was heard about fifteen minutes ago. What was going on in there? Was Egla having the baby, or was it born? Was Egla crying and screaming because of another unsuccessful birth, or was there an emergency going on that called for the physician to be brought in? His stepmother wouldn't need the physician's help; not only had she, at one time in the past, been a nurse, but she also gave birth three times.

Should he go in? He had yet to be called and, while he knew it was for the best that the menfolk stay away from the women as they had their young, he couldn't help but want to go in. He was curious. He felt like there was something on his back; the reins were being firmly held, and his muzzle was against his chest. The invisible being that was on his back was holding him back... He also felt a sort of electricity coursing through his body—never in his existence had he felt that, and he was wondering why.

He tried pacing again only to find himself unable to. His body, naked and clothed in nothing more than the robe that his father gave him some hours ago, was tense. The muscle that he harbored was taut. He felt sweat course down the sides of his face, and down his chest; when Egla's scream ricocheted from the room, he started breathing heavily.

"Come on." ShaamVile said. "Come on. Come on. Do something other than scream. Don't cry or scream; call me, please. Have the baby then call for me to come in, MiLass."

He didn't know how long he stood there but, when his paralysis broke, he thought he heard a woman say 'that's it'.

He resumed his pacing after thinking that he heard something. The room that he paced before was quiet. His father came out of his office. He stood before the door; his face was grave, and full of concern. He paced and paced and paced until, finally, the door that he was pacing before was opened. The physician, a Goteian of modest height, who had bleach-white fur and charcoal-gray eyes, walked out. He wiped his hoof-like hands on the towel that he had with him then looked at him.

"All I can do, sir." the man said.

"Well?" ShaamVile said. He took two steps towards the man then stopped. A glance at the room was made, then he looked at his father, then at the physician. "Well? What was it? Is it alive or—"

"Go find out for yourself." Malakay, who was leaving the room, said.

6:35 a.m.; In the Birthing Chamber

The room's blue-gray carpet came close to tripping him when he went in. Blue walls, with a brown strip in every corner, dominated his line of sight for a micro second before he trained his attention to the bed.

It was occupied, as he knew it would be, but, to him, it looked to have more than one occupant on it. White sheets were pulled up to the waist of his beloved. The pillows were crumpled and unkept; some lay on the floor while others lay here and there at the head of the bed in weird angles. He took half a dozen hurried steps towards the bed before stopping. His beloved, a member of the Synamon species, who had white hair and green eyes, which sported rather exotic, yellow-colored, cat-like pupils in their centers, had something to her breast—both of which were exposed, but only one could be seen, which made him wonder why.

He took a tiny step forward then stopped. His beloved looked tired... if he wasn't seeing things, there was a "stained" area on the bedding. What happened? Had something ruptured? Did the origins of the stain come from the normal birthing process—which was never easy, or clean. He took another step then stopped in his tracks. All feeling left him at once. The Universe stopped revolving. All sound ceased being heard when he saw the arm reach out from the blanket that his woman was holding to her breast; it was the right one, he was sure, and, if he wasn't seeing things, it was black.

"The first thing she did, after Esziss and Alaborie were born, was let them nurse." ShaamVile thought as he lingered near the room's center. "Even though Esziss came out with some of her intestines, bowel, and liver out of her body, she insisted on letting her nurse. Esziss passed while nursing. It was by her milk that we discovered Alaborie's deformity—Alaborie nursed, then wasn't able to pass any fecal matter because of her colon not being fully formed."

"Shaam?" Egla's soothing, sweet voice floated to him. He blinked his eyes, but didn't move from where he was. "Shaamie, come forward. Think someone that we've been wanting to see wants to see you."

The spell was broken, but not by his choice or will. He stepped forward slowly, then with ever increasing speed. When he was at the bed, he sat then leaned over. His woman moved ever so slightly; their favorite position—to snuggle, or rest against one another while having their heads, or faces, close—was achieved a few seconds later. His beloved's head rested on one of his ears. He looked at her then, after producing a nervous little swallow, looked down.

A smile spread across his face after he saw what it was that she was holding. While delicate—fragile, as any newborn babe was—, there was no mistaking the gender of what it was.

"Egla!" he exclaimed in a whisper. Love poured out of him for both her and the newborn that was taking in his first meal. He felt complete; for the moment, he forgot all the hurdles that he and she had faced as a couple.

The baby was small—if he had to make any guesses, he was between seventeen and nineteen inches long—and he resembled him a little. Them little ears of his looked fragile and delicate now but, in time, they'd fill out and become quite sturdy. They were a dull silver color; the Tiger-like stripes, that were on them, were a dull black color. He was sure that, in time, the baby's colors would darken—they almost always did; babies were typically born a lighter version of what they'd be in the months to years to come. The left side of his head and, he presumed, body was a dark silver color while the other side was that dull black color. The nails, that were on the ends of the perfectly formed fingers, were black. The baby's eyes were currently closed; while retaining the urge to ask about them, he found himself as wondering what color they were. In time, he told himself, he'd find out.

"Egla..." ShaamVile turned then kissed her. She kissed him back, then fell back against his ear.

"Zinjus had to cut me for him to pass." Egla said. With his ever-increasing awe and excitement, he missed the tired sound that was creeping into her voice. "His ears were causing him to be stuck."

"Boy, right?" he asked.

"Mhmmm."

"Sitting here, wondering where the rest of him is." ShaamVile said. "Such a little thing... you were pretty round..."

"Big and mighty things come in small packages."

"Looks to have a good palate."

"Came out cry-less," Egla said. "He practically latched on right after being placed on my chest."

He suddenly had a hankering to touch him. A little touch. A finger to the little dark hand, that was being held like a fist. He reached his hand around the bundle that his fiancée was holding then, right when he was about to lay a finger on his new son's fist, it flashed at him. There was movement in the bundle. His son's head moved ever so slightly; milk dribbled down Egla's exposed chest before coming to a stop when it came in contact with the blanket. The same thing happened a few seconds later, when he tried to touch his son's fist again.

"Leave me alone, Daddy. That's what he's saying." Egla said. She was holding in the chuckles.

"Sure is a fussy, spunky little thing." ShaamVile said.

The eyes of the newborn opened—maybe it was his saying that he was fussy or spunky or, maybe, it was his use of a little louder voice that did it. All he knew was that, once them eyes opened, they swept from him then to Egla. Taking them in, he wanted to say, but couldn't. Them newborn eyes were nearly the same shade of bottle green that Egla's were; along with being a little lighter, they glowed rather magnificently. While he didn't have his mother's pupils, they were the same shade of yellow that Egla's were. The shape of them tiny, round, bumblebee-yellow pupils had come from him; there was no doubt on that.

"Welcome to the Universe, Little Duru." Egla said. He had a fight on his hands to not cry.

8:45 p.m.; Dining Room

"Mazel tov!" everyone yelled at once.

Wine glasses, made of the purest form of glass known in the Universe, clicked as the occupants of the room congratulated the one who stood in their center. A tight ring was around the man who, a week and three days ago, became a new father. The word was quickly spread on the birth; the coveted heir to the Surfeit clan was born on the eleventh of December, in the year 3650, at exactly 6:28 a.m., to lucky parents, ShaamVile Kondee Surfeit and Egla Ifica Shaar. Everyone wanted to come over, party, and do the congratulating thing right after the birth but, on polite request of the new father, they retained that desire for all of a week and a half. None of them needed to know the reason for why the postponement was made; everyone knew about ShaamVile's apparent bad luck in the baby-department.

Out of the twenty-five babies that he created with his partners, ShaamVile had just one be born and then stay alive per engagement. One with Nicolia Bloashi, and another with Bikare Globoosie, and now the one that was born to Egla Shaar. ShaamVile's apparent bad luck had run its course, they were thinking and saying. Out of eleven back-to-back unsuccessful pregnancies, he and Egla had finally brought forth a living child.

And a son at that!

"The Gods shine down upon you, Shaam!" TrobrencusVile's hand slapped against ShaamVile's shoulder. ShaamVile smiled, but didn't lose his good mood or humor. "A near-two week old baby, and a boy at that!"

"I knew he'd come through one day. My branch of the Surfeit clan is saved thanks to my boy here." a little bit of the wine that was in ShaamVile's glass spilled after his father clapped him on the shoulder that his older, half-brother slapped. Like with TrobrencusVile, ShaamVile took the clap well. No bad or ill feelings felt.

"And he is a healthy thing." ShaamVile said. "Once that nipple's presented to him, or the bottle's to his lips, he sucks. He's getting stronger by the day... makes me so damn proud!"

"Makes me glad to know that no more assaults on the balls will be spoken of." RaalVile said.

"Hear Ye! Hear Ye!" ShaamVile cheered. "The sacred sacks be-ith saved. My days as a stud aren't as numbered as I thought they were."

"Wouldn't of let you do it anyways, M'boy." RaalVile said.

There were close to thirty people in the room. All gaily dressed for the occasion; some in dresses, and others in very flashy tuxedos. ShaamVile, the proud, new father, was the only one of the men to not be wearing a tuxedo—he, a long time ago, had forged his own tastes in clothing.

His dark green pants went to just his knees. The garter strings, that held their ends to his knees, were the same color. The three buttons, and short zipper, that were on their groin, were of genuine silver; the same went with the buttons that went down their outer legs. A pair of white slacks ran down from the end of the pant legs; they went into a pair of dark gray suede boots, that's top halves were pulled down a little. The crisp, white shirt, that had long sleeves, and a button front, was proudly worn under a bright green vest, that had silver buttons on its front. The jacket, which had silver hems and designs sewn into it, went down to the floor on the left side only; the right stopped at ShaamVile's waist. The silk cravat tie, that had Paisley Floral designs on it, was just as crisp as the rest of his clothing.

Of the men in the room, ShaamVile stood out the most and he damn well knew it. He was dressed very sharply, and looked just as proud as could be.

"Where's the Lil' Guy?" ShaamVile's older brother, ZaalVile Ejaw Surfeit, asked. When ShaamVile made no indication of having heard him, ZaalVile walked forward then placed his hand on his shoulder. "Shaam, my man, where's the Lil' Tyke that's my nephew?"

"Napping," ShaamVile laughed. "That's most of what he does. Eats, craps or pisses, then sleeps."

"No crying involved with this one?" TrobrencusVile, who had two, young daughters of his own, asked.

"That, too." ShaamVile held his glass out; RaalVile automatically filled it. "Duru produces the highest cries that I've ever heard."

"Bet he keeps you and Egla up at nights." TrobrencusVile speculated.

"Mostly Shaam," RaalVile said as he re-filled his brother's glass.

Though happy, and just as joyous as the rest of them, RaalVile harbored a worry that he wasn't able to voice for the last week and three days. It revolved around his son's fiancée; the woman would of been down in the spacious, stone-floored room with everyone if not for looking and being so tired. Zinjus had, indeed, come through in ensuring a safe birth but he did admit to having to do what his prior physician did for Shaam to be born.

Frahfrie Cloridona, his first wife, and the mother of his first three children, was induced and then cut for his secondborn son to be born. Like with Duru, Shaam's ears prevented safe, and clear, passage. Frahfrie was cut, then their son was pulled out; a healthy, fat thing of nearly nine pounds... and a good length of twenty-three inches. Born big and stayeth big; his son had never missed a meal, or time in the gym. His secondborn son was as healthy, and strong, as could be.

Egla, though, was a concern of his. She looked to be running a fever most mornings and nights, and she hardly had enough strength to stand, much less look after her and Shaam's newborn. His son was too absorbed in Duru to show much notice of his fiancée's disturbing symptoms; while meaning to talk to Shaam about Egla, he was either distracted by his own happiness or some task that required his immediate attention. As of that night, he decided to ask for Zinjus to look into Egla. A description of her symptoms was given then he asked for him to look at her; what disturbed him the most was her alarming loss of weight, and sudden refusal to let Duru nurse.

Like his son said, Duru was getting stronger by the day, but, as of the last two days, he had started to be a little low in energy. He was a little more sleepy too. Egla's refusal to let him nurse had started two days ago; while Duru was on a trio-diet, which consisted of bottled formula, newborn baby food, and his mother's natural milk, he did need his mother's milk to stay healthy. If not for kin showing up, he'd of grabbed his son then put him straight on who he should be more absorbed in.

Yes, be happy over the successful birth of a child, but don't let it cloud your good judgement, or allow it to stray you from the ones you love. Women were put under a lot of stress during birth and Elga had experienced more than her fair share of it. He feared more for her than for her infant.

"The doc!" RaalVile's third son, RikiVile Levav Surfeit, yelled in his usual, mechanical way.

"Join in My Man!" ZaalVile said. "We owe you as much respect as we do Egla, Shaam, and Malakay."

"S'cuse me, s'cuse me." Zinjus Aredock said as he wrestled through the crowd. "Mr. Raal! S'cuse me... pardon... yes, very nice to meet you... no, I'm afraid I can't linger and enjoy the festivities... Mr. Raal!"

"Zinjus, what's the reason for your hurried arrival, and lack of breath?" RaalVile asked after his physician reached his area.

"You and Mr. Shaam need to come and fast." Zinjus, who looked very worried in the face, pled.

"Whatever for?" ShaamVile, who suddenly appeared beside his father, asked.

"Miss. E—"

"Mrs., nor Miss." ShaamVile made a face. Never had his beloved been called "Miss." while with him; he had no intentions to let any man call her by it.

"Mrs. Egla is quite ill—I need to speak with both of you on her." the Goteian physician practically yelled.

Everyone around them stopped partying at once. ShaamVile's glass exploded into a million tiny, shiny pieces after its holder ran off towards the stairs; his call of Eeeeeggglllaaaa echoed throughout the residence as he went to them. RaalVile conducted himself a little more appropriately by placing the things in his hands down. He followed his physician afterwards.

10:40 p.m.; In the Birthing Chamber

Everyone scoffed at him when word reached them of his unorthodox order to his personal physician, who was just as finely trained as his father's was. Most physicians in his day and age worked without doing the clean-up routine on their hands; with their working in dirty environments, they gained a lot of disease and infection to themselves—not only did he not want to himself to attract the attention of an infection but he didn't want his beloved to get any diseases that were untreatable.

The one infection that was running rampant on his planet of birth was called Puerperal Fever. It was usually caught from a physician, or doctor, not cleaning his, or her, hands prior to going to work; it was also gained from the use of equipment that was filthy. This infection targeted women who gave birth, and it had a near 100% fatality record.

Hearing that his beloved was ill was scary in itself, but hearing that she contracted the horrid infection made his blood slow to a bare trickle. His father's physician had come out wiping his hoof-like hands on a towel; he didn't even give it a thought about asking the man to clean his hands, or use equipment that was clean. His fiancée was diagnosed with Puerperal Fever two hours ago; while all efforts were being exercised to save her life, the prognosis didn't look good.

If not for his father, he would of grabbed and then strangled the man who caused his beloved's illness. His residence, which was so badly damaged nearly two weeks ago, was back in order again. He, Egla, and their newborn could move back in; before the diagnosis was made, he had all intention to take them home after the partying commenced. He couldn't do that now. Not with his beloved being as sick as she was.

"These 'biotics should kick that bug in the bud." his father's physician, who was hooking an intravenous drip to Egla's wrist, said.

"For your sake, I hope you're right!" ShaamVile hissed.

8:09 a.m.; Office

"The fever's growing, she's becoming more frail, and you're doing nothing but saying your apologies?" RaalVile scoffed. His physician did nothing but look at his feet. "Do you know how much that woman means to my son? She just gave birth, Zinjus! A week and four days ago—that infant needs her as much as his father does!"

"I've exhausted all available methods to my disposal, sir." Zinjus replied. "I've even let her bleed out, with hopes that the infection would expel itself. There's nothing else—"

"Bullshit!" RaalVile exclaimed. "There's plenty more to use on her! What of the Protozin that you ordered after discovering her illness? Where is that? Why haven't you used it on her?"

"Protozin is very new on the market, sir. I was only rushed a small vial of it. Mrs. Egla's infection is too far along for the drug to take effect."

"Have you used it? How do you know it'll have no effect on her?"

"I've exhausted all available methods, and medicines, to my disposal on her."

Zinjus Aredock, the physician who endured more than enough over the last ten hours, felt like shaking his head. If more than the tiny vial of Protozin was delivered to him, or the Fever was noticed a week earlier, there'd be no issue or cause for concern.

Right after hearing her symptoms, then looking her over, he placed the order for the medicine. The car rushed over, then a box was delivered. While he was happy to receive the vial, he was disappointed in how much it had in it; the Protozin might of been able to treat one who was less effected by his patient's ailment, but it wouldn't be able to treat one who was so badly infected by it. Even though he was heavily minded over the dosage that he gave to his patient, he added some water to it then more than two other forms of medicine as a "strengthener". No change in the woman was noted. Her health, which was already at a fragile state, was slipping by the hour. The woman's fiancé was constantly at her side, and his ear.

While the worry of his patient weighed him down, the threats against his life, and his worry over being fired, made for his conscience to not be the same. He didn't have much faith on the woman's survival, but he didn't dare speak that. Not near his employer, or his son.

The situation was dire and he, sadly, couldn't do a thing to change its course. While medicine was constantly being invented and tested, no cure was available for what Mrs. Egla had.

"Order more Protozin, Zinjus! Get in there then start busting your balls to make my daughter-in-law get to feeling better!" RaalVile snapped.

12:09 p.m.; In the Birthing Chamber

Whatever the physician was doing wasn't enough, ShaamVile thought and knew. With his fear being as grand as it was, he placed a call to his own physician, who came right away then set to work. With two physicians working, and applying all available care and methods to his fiancée's care, he was hoping for a miracle. A drug called Protozin, along with two others—Ampicil was one, while the other was a test-drug that hadn't yet been put to market—were administered soon after his physician's arrival. Whenever Zinjus Aredock came near him, he snarled then started his threats.

His Egla wouldn't be sick if not for him! His beloved, who, if he recalled correctly, gave birth to another stillborn son, was sick and it was all Zinjus's fault! He refused to leave her side. Whether to use the bathroom, or eat or drink, he refused to leave her. His head was bowed; continuous prayer was coming from him.

His beloved was sleeping now. He hoped that, when she woke up, she'd be stronger and healthier. He didn't dare think of what he'd do without her in his life. Nearly twelve thousand years, and twelve children together... All the hurdles that they faced together... He didn't think he could live without her.

9:50 p.m.; Office

She woke only once in the nine hours that followed his son's physician's arrival and hasty work. He only needed to take one look at her to know that the effort made by the physicians was in vain. Egla's face was growing pale, and her strength was just so low... All efforts on his part to prepare his son for what was to happen had fallen on deaf ears; Shaam was clinging to the hope that a miracle would happen.

What worried him the most was his son's mental and emotional self. His son was now talking about how Egla had slipped a stillborn; he was also talking of past events as if they just happened. The newborn, who was now nearly two weeks of age, was moved to the chamber that his parents were in—even that didn't stop the talks, or mental slip. When Duru started crying at just past eight o'clock, his father didn't react like a typical father would. He just asked for one of the physicians to close the door. When the crying continued, his son instructed his physician to find the parents and then have them silence their child. Shaam's physician took Duru from the chamber. The baby was in the next room; he was still crying. Did he know of the dark hour that was coming? Did his infant grandson know that his mother was close to death's door?

"Merciful Gods, I beseech you to help her get better, or pass at a quicker pace." RaalVile said as tears welled in his eyes.

7:05 a.m.; In the Birthing Chamber

Her eyes, glassy, hot, and full of sickness, opened just twice. She took in her beloved, who looked so grave and concerned for her, but she couldn't touch him. All strength was zapped from her. She could hardly move her head, she was that weak. The physicians, one employed by her fiancé, and the other by her father-in-law, had worked feverishly on her; she knew that they were trying, and that their work was in vain. The illness, she believed, had entered her body after the scalpel's use. For Duru to be born, she needed to be cut. Zinjus had used a rather smudgy scalpel to make the cut. The illness was claiming her and she knew it.

"Shaam," Egla wished she could say... but couldn't, thanks to her illness. "I love you so much. One day, my love, we shall meet again. Take care of our little one. Be a good daddy to him."

7:35 a.m.; In the Birthing Chamber

Her last breath came right when he sat up. He was about to nod off; a lot had happened in the last twenty-four hours, and he was having a time in staying awake. His beloved, who looked so ill, moved her hands ever so slightly. He took one then pulled it to his lips. He kissed it right when something happened that made his body convulse.

A gasp came from her. A jerk of the hand that he was holding happened, then she went still. Mentally, he saw her spiritual essence going to the place where all good, deceased folk went. His strength left him; her hand, so fine and smooth, slipped from his then fell to the bed. When that happened, he shot up from where he was then collapsed over her.

"Noooooooo...!" ShaamVile wailed. "No, Egla... come back! Merciful Gods, please right the wrong! Return her to the world of the living! Return her to good health, and to me! My Egla! My Egla! My Eeeeegggggllllaaa!"

5:35 p.m.; The Cemetery

"Blessed be, let her sleep and in peace." TrobrencusVile preached as he led the procession of people to the cemetery.

For TrobrencusVile, the worse thing in the Universe had happened. Despite all the efforts put in to save her, his nephew's fiancée perished three days ago. A few hours following her untimely demise, the hole was dug; all preparatory work was done to ensure that her passing to the next world was a good one.

She was dressed in green, which was her favorite color, and she wore the ring that she was given by his nephew eleven thousand, eight hundred, and ninety-eight years ago. Her hair was washed, and then permed. Her face was cleaned; Egla had never been one to wear makeup, so none was put on her. A pair of green heels were put on her feet, then some jewelry was put on her—Shaam was the one to put the two-strand, pink diamond necklace on her, while Malakay put the matching bracelets on her. While Shaam did some of the preparations on her, Raal did the rest; before the casket was closed, a shower of pink and red rose petals were sprinkled over the body that was in it—Shaam did that before collapsing then succumbing to his hysteria. With the way the man was acting, he was praying for his mental, emotional, and physical health.

The pallbearer's were as followed: Raal and Zaal at the start with Rosol, Olai, and Varai's husbands behind them. Shaam was behind the casket with Malakay. Though dressed appropriately for the affair, he needed to be prompted to do so. Malakay's hand was neatly nestled in his. Baby Duru was behind them; his nephew had forgotten about him. Before the funeral started, he asked that Egla be buried near the grave of their lastborn.

The happy occasion had turned into a dark one. Duru's birth, though a blessing, had come with a price. A baby born alive only for the mother to succumb to an illness that, two weeks later, would claim her life. His nephew was a widower now, and Duru, at just two weeks and three days of age, was a maternal orphan.

"At the start of existence, Man was created by dirt, and Woman by tear of Man. Let thy dirt claim the body that dwelleth in this hole. Let no predator come to these grounds to disturb the sleep of the one placed in this hole, or any of the others who sleep around her. Let the ones already left embrace the new one in their entourage." TrobrencusVile said as the pallbearer's placed the casket in the hole. "Sleep and be at peace, Egla Ifica Shaar."

6:00 p.m.; The Cemetery

They left, leaving him to have his last parting words with his woman. He didn't know what to say. He was numb. He felt empty; his beloved was gone, and so was a good chunk of him. He had nothing else to live for. First, the birth of a stillborn son, then the death of Egla. He should of never talked her into having another child. He should of cut them after the last one was lost. If he did that, none of this would of happened. He'd still have his beloved. He'd be going home with her. Their lives would go on. Everything would be as it should.

Now, everything was changed.

"You... have a lot of babies up there, Elga." ShaamVile said as the tears rained down his cheeks. "Bet a lot of hugging is going on where you're at. Twelve babies to hold and meet. I envy you, My Love. I really do."

She was surrounded by their young. Twelve in all; graves for the miscarried babies were also made. The plot that was beside her was empty, as it should be, but, in time, it'd have an occupant. He had all intention of being buried beside her.

The light from the moons was raining down on him. It lit the grave that was just filled. He felt a sense fall over him. It was like that light was her... a hug from the spiritual side was given to him, he thought. When the wind blew, he imagined it carrying a kiss with it. Why had this happened? Why hadn't that damn physician cleaned his hands, and the tools that he used? He was now looking at having to go home without his woman. A call to his fiancée's parents would have to be made. The Shaar's would be at his throat in no time.

"I knew this would happen! The day you came along, I knew you'd take her from us!" Amjufaria would say.

"I hope you burn in hell you cowardly dog!" Lorboriann would say.

"MiEgla, if I could take back anything, it'd be our last pregnancy." ShaamVile wailed.

He cried while hovered over her grave then, after a few minutes passed, he allowed himself to lie on it. While he didn't know what time it was when he left the cemetery, he did know it was well past dark. It was also cold. Even though he was cold, he didn't care—his heart was ripped from his chest when she died; he didn't feel like a man anymore. When he turned to look at the cemetery, he saw that it was bathed in the moons' light. He waved at the cemetery, told her that he'd see her again, then turned to go to the house.

12:00 p.m.; The Foyer

"It's only been three days, Shaam. Why not stay, and have your family be with you?" Malakay said after he started down the stairs.

"Can't," ShaamVile replied. "Too much pain, and sorrow, is here."

"Shaam!"

"I can't stay here, mammaw." ShaamVile said. He hoisted his bags up as he finished his descent, then came close to tripping.

While Elga's passing effected all of them, her stepson was especially hit by it. Her stepson, who she loved so much, was having a time with coping with what happened. The sudden decision to leave the house, then go to the smaller of his residences—3000 square feet; with six-car garage, stable and barn, an egg-shaped pool, two gardens, three ponds, and a tennis court—was made last night. Her son was leaving her and her husband's abode for one of his own and, most shockingly, he was leaving Duru behind.

She knew why he wasn't going back to his former residence—Egla was there. Her presence, her smell... everything about her was there. Egla had a thing for keys, and for hiding them all over the place, and that residence was just teaming with them. She also had a thing for dancing, Yoga and Pilates, water activities, and music; while Shaam was smart in not returning to his former residence, he wasn't being smart in leaving with the child that his fiancée birthed.

Raal kept it in long enough. Her husband was too overcome with grief to prevent his son's speedy exit while she, who had once given birth to a stillborn, then had two miscarriages before meeting him, was holding herself more together. She grabbed her stepson's arm right when he was reaching for the doorknob then, using all the strength that she had in her, heaved him back. The four suitcases were instantly dropped.

"You're not leaving!" Malakay shrieked.

"I have to! I can't stay here anymore! There's nothing for me here, and there's no reason for me to stay." ShaamVile replied.

"You're not leaving him behind!"

"He's with his mother in Paradise," ShaamVile said as he collected his suitcases.

"You fool!" Malakay, though tender and understanding, swung her hand at the man who was grabbing the cases from the floor. ShaamVile reeled at once, then looked at her in shock.

"Mammaw? How could you? You've never struck me before..."

"Get that handicap from your mind and body now!" Malakay fought the urge to slap him again. "Go upstairs! Claim what you've left!"

"There's nothing for me to claim here!" ShaamVile bellowed.

"You've become clouded by your grief! You've let it push the baby that's upstairs from your mind."

"What baby?" ShaamVile asked a few minutes later.

"Duru, you oaf!"

"He was stillborn. He's buried—"

"No such truth in your words! Nothing of the sort happened—Little Duru was born alive, and is still alive. I, your stepmother, have been tending him since Egla's noted illness."

"Wh—"

"Go! Go upstairs! The baby chamber is where you're needed! He's in there! Go, go look for yourself!" Malakay screamed.

12:08 p.m.; The Second Floor

With nothing else keeping him here, or reason to stay, he packed his things then left without saying so first. His stepmother had seen him leave the room that he and his precious and now forever gone Elga had roomed in; she had followed his heels all while he went to the foyer, then did something that she had never done before.

Ka-Pow! His right cheek stung, and felt warm, but, at the moment, he was oblivious to them things. After hearing what she said, he looked at her for only a second then shot up the stairs. Was what she said true? Did Egla come through in delivering a healthy baby?

Egla's contraction of the dreaded Puerperal Fever had come from his father's physician, who, a few day's ago, parted ways with his employer. Something about a cut needing to be done. His beloved needed to be cut for the baby to be born. A dirty scalpel was used; that was how her illness was gained. The scalpel, and the physician's dirty, hoof-like hands, had caused the Fever to enter her body. His personal physician would of never used anything dirty on Egla. His physician would of cleaned his hands, and instruments, before being allowed anywhere near her. Why hadn't he been in the room with her? He could of prevented the transference of the infection if he was with her!

He went up the grand, and once-spiraling, staircase then tore down the hall towards the room that his stepmother spoke of. As he went along, he thought of all the keys and other treasures that his beloved had around their old residence. He had plans to never go back; his heart hurt too much, and being in that house, with all them items being in it, would cause it to hurt even more. He was going to order all the staff from the house; it was to be locked up tight, but not sold. He'd never sell that property. It held too many memories... both good and bad. He couldn't part with it. The residence, which would still be in his possession some two hundred thousand years later, after he was returned from Limbo by his great-great granddaughter, would forever be his.

The door to the chamber that he was headed towards was blue. He stopped before it, swallowed a few times, then started the process of shifting his weight from one foot to the other, before reaching for the tiny, gold knob. One twist, then a gentle push, made the door swing in; he went in slowly, then glanced around.

"The chamber that any and all newborn babes in the house are housed in," ShaamVile thought as he looked at the room. "I and my siblings were born in a different residence; only five babies were born here... the last one that I and Egla had was born here, while the rest were born at our old residence."

Blue walls, that had purple and blue cloud drawings on them, were seen. Walnut wood trim decorated each of the corners. A walnut dresser, with matching changing table, stood across from the crib, which was also made of walnut. A wicker basket, that looked to house some paper in it, stood near the changing area. A wooden rocking chair, complete with blue cushion, was to the right of the crib. One of the room's windows was open; early afternoon light was washing in. Shelves full of stuffed animals, and other baby items, hung here and there on the walls; a single, silver fridge was standing in the upper right corner.

He went towards the crib, which had a new mattress, and looked to have blue and white baby blankets in it, slowly. It was all too easy to picture the last baby born to him and Egla in it. Baby Duru, swaddled in a blue baby blanket, or wearing a pair of blue PJ's, or a plain diaper, taking in the world around him through them walnut wood bars. Baby Duru's eyes, wide open, trying to take everything in at once, scoping the room out. Baby Duru waiting for his next meal, or his diaper to be changed, or some attention. All too easy to picture... he came close to turning and then fleeing the room. At the very last second, he mustered the strength to look in the crib.

A smile lit his face instantly, then little lights sparkled in his eyes as fresh tears fought to the surface.

"The only piece I have left of MiEgla and yet, here I was to leave you behind." ShaamVile said as he lifted the baby, who seemed to be heavier than he remembered him being, from the crib. "My son and last remaining piece of Egla, let's go home."