She was on the train, and the lights in the tunnels were sucking her in. She should have known better than to stare idly out the window. Anything repetitive like that, particularly with light, and she was a goner. That's part of the reason why she worked at the coffee house. Everything was muted there, and people were always coming and going, filling the place with a creative, kinetic energy that she really liked. The lending library was an awesome plus, and she found herself curling up on one of the overstuffed sofas most nights after work, reading, or writing out whatever had overtaken her mind.

She had an office job once, doing data entry for some big law firm that needed to compile statistics for its corporate clients in their various cases. It only lasted a few days before she got fired. The rows of numbers and smooth, repetitive motion of the keystrokes carried her away, and she was helpless against it. That was a few years ago, in college. She managed it better now.

Usually, that is. Today she wasn't paying attention. Today, she slipped.

"Brangane! Take her!" The man said, drawing his sword. "I'll draw them away. Get her into the caves!"

"But - "

"Now! Go!"

The young woman slid her arm around the other woman, who was heavy with child. It was clear she was deeply in labor, hunched over at the waist and holding her belly. Her skirts were soaked, clinging to her body as she bit down hard on her lip to keep her screams from being heard. She took a deep, shuddering breath and managed to get a word out around her latest contraction.

"Tristan..."

He stepped forward, kissing her forehead tenderly. "I'll draw them away and then circle back to find you. You need to get to shelter. Brangane will get you into the caves - it'll be warmer there...for the babe." His voice cracked slightly. "Go, Isolde. Keep our child safe." He kissed her again, lingeringly, pulling back as she bore down with another contraction. He held her until it passed, then shoved her almost roughly at the younger woman, and took off running down the beach.

Her eyes clearly showed the love she had for this man as she strained to look over her shoulder. Her lady's maid pulled her along, glancing fearfully over all around as she carefully stepped over the rocks along the shoreline.

"We'll have to climb around the rocks, my lady," Brangane urged. "And there's no help for it, you'll have to walk through the water part-way. 'Tis time for the tide, and the entrance to the cave is flooding. It'll be dry once we're in." The young woman looked as though she very much doubted that. She threw her arm around Isolde's waist, pulling and supporting her alternately as the contractions came faster.

They sloshed through the icy water, scrambling over sharp rocks and into the cave as the waves of the incoming tide pulled at their skirts. Isolde had the palm of her hand jammed into her mouth, biting down hard and screaming into it with every contraction - and they seemed to be coming one on top of the other now. She staggered, falling to her knees in the water. Her body convulsed as she bore down, unable to stop it as the most primal of instincts took over.

"My lady!" Brangane shrieked. She reached down to try to pull her up, but it was too late. With a mighty heave, Isolde expelled the child, down into the icy sea water.

Brangane pulled the baby out immediately, wiping it's face and rubbing warmth into its limbs and belly. The child gave a watery cough, then a shrill, thin cry. She put her hand over the babe's mouth to keep it silent, holding it close to herself to give it warmth. She managed to cut the cord with the small dirk she carried in her pocket, but it was a difficult, slippery job. There was a moment of pure terror as she realized she could hear the shouts of the men and the clash of swords.

She tried awkwardly to pull Isolde to her feet with one hand, but the woman was too weakened by the birth, still bleeding badly, and the icy water was wearing her down.

"B-Brangane," the woman whispered hoarsely. "The baby...?"

"A girl, my lady. She lives, but we need to get you out of here."

The woman shook her head slowly, shaking convulsively with cold and fatigue. "Take her..." She gasped. "Keep her...safe."

"My lady...?" The young woman was in tears, shaking her head violently. "I cannot."

"You must. He'll come for her." Isolde stopped, taking deep, gasping breaths. "Get me out of the water. I need...to find some ground beneath me." She lurched forward, as if the act of speaking had been too much. Brangane fashioned a sling of sorts from her apron, tying the baby tight against her chest for warmth as she managed to get both arms around Isolde, helping her stagger to her feet.

Together they pushed through the water, and as they moved, Brangane could see the pools of red swirling around them at every outsurge. Her lady was bleeding out. It wouldn't be long.

At last they made the entrance to the cave, and Brangane listened carefully, hearing no voices or other sounds from the beach. She stepped cautiously out, looking left and right.

"They're gone, my lady."

Isolde nodded, unable to speak. She had Brangane's hand in a death-grip, stumbling over rocks and finally breaking through the worst of it to fall to her knees on the sand.

She raised her head, her lips moving soundlessly. Brangane could just make out the word: baby. She leaned down, uncovering the babe enough that the mother could see it. Isolde reached out a shaking hand, tracing her daughter's face with her fingers. then she grasped one hand firmly with the other, twisting and wrenching until she pulled the heavy gold ring from her finger. She reached up, unclasping the chain and pendant from her neck, looping the ring onto the chain alongside the pendant and fastening it around the baby's neck.

She sagged back on her heels, breathing rapidly now, as if there weren't enough air. She raised her head once more, and her lips formed a word: go.

Brangane nodded, tucking the babe back in her shelter. It was growing dark, and if she moved further down the beach, there were drier caves where she might pass the night. Come the daylight she'd have to find help, or a wet-nurse at the very least. She dashed at her cheeks with her free hand, wiping the tears from her eyes so that she might see better in the growing darkness.

Isolde watched her go, sobs racking her body. She turned her head, and in the dim light, she could just make out the glint of metal up against the rocks. She squinted her eyes, trying to focus. She bit down on her lip, whimpering as she crawled, pulling her torn knees and shredded skirts over the sand and smaller rocks, leaving a trail of blood behind her, until she fell, at last, at his side.

He didn't move from where he'd fallen, slouched against the rocks. The sword wound deep in his neck showed clearly how he died. Her hand reached out for him, even as her own life bled away, and her fingers came to rest upon the heavy gold ring upon his hand. She breathed his name, and then she breathed no more.

Her blood continued to seep into the earth beneath her, and soon the red began to change, deepening into a darker green, and as her body sank into the sand beneath her, branches began to reach up from the earth to engulf her, shooting out of her skin and twining and twisting as they climbed toward the sky. Her outstretched hand became a root, growing across to where it rested upon the hand of her true love, transforming it into a vine that twined within her branches, spreading up the rock, overtaking what remained of him until there was nothing left of either of them but the bush and the vine that bowed it over, forming an arch.

And when the dawn broke, the sun glinted off the pools of water and patches of ice upon the sand, glaring upon the spatters of blood where they lay...

The train lurched to a stop and Bryony took a deep breath, shaking her head to clear it. Oh, God. That one again. She closed her eyes tightly, fighting back the tears. She'd had that one three times in the last month, and always with the same result.

She was freezing.

It was ninety degrees outside, and she knew she wouldn't get warm. She got off the train, shivering a bit as the gooseflesh pricked her arms. She made the five block walk to the coffee shop, and poured herself an enormous cup of Earl Grey, but even that didn't do the trick. It would be hours before she felt anything near normal again.

She didn't bother to reach for her journal. Of all the visions, this one had been with her for her entire life. This one, there was no escaping. Her hand slid up, absently rubbing the pendant around her neck.

And the heavy gold band, twined with roses, glinted on her finger.