Alright guys, here's the chapter! Sorry it took so long to get here, I think I might've mentioned that I made big plans for the extra long weekend. But I finally finished this and I hope you guys like it; we get a glimpse of Anya's past and meet a new character. So...give it a read and tell me what you think! Enjoy. ;)

Anya was lying down on her new mattress that had been pilfered from the city, thankful for the minimal comfort it provided her body. She was hardly aware of it, however. In fact, she was hardly aware of anything. She knew there were two others in the room with her and she knew they were speaking but her mind was so hazy she hadn't any idea who they were or what they were saying. They were two dim shadows in the corner of her quarters, speaking a hushed and meaningless language. Occasionally one of them would approach her, put something on her forehead, lift her head up, force her to drink some water. They would whisper something soothing in her ear, but it was useless. Their language was foreign to her, their harsh dialect incomprehensible. Their faces, too, were strange. Bordering on the cusp of familiarity, and yet completely alien. It seemed to Anya that their names were on the tip of her tongue, their faces too familiar to forget. And yet, she had. She struggled to recall, tried to summon a memory to mind, but her head was too clouded and anything she managed to remember was vague and ambiguous. Nothing was clear or sensical, and the world itself seemed to be spinning. The two shadowy figures in the corner were suddenly rushing over to her, and she felt hands all over her body, touching, squeezing, tearing. She spasmed, trying desperately to get away from the villains, but she was weak, and subdued easily. One of them held her down while the other forced a vile, thick liquid into her mouth. Her muscles suddenly began to relax again, and she felt the world slowly disintegrate around her, as though it were made entirely of sand. Her mind became even more blurry, and whatever thoughts she might have had were scattered. Slowly, slowly she began to submit to the temptation of sleep, letting her eyes flutter closed and her pain dissapear. The reality around her was replaced with another, as the real world and dream world collided into one. Anya couldn't tell where one started and the other began, whether she was asleep or awake, but she didn't mind. As long as nothing hurt, she didn't mind.

"I must admit, her condition has been deteriorating at a much faster rate than I anticipated. This is more serious than anything I've ever seen related to magic." Lanoria was telling Killian regretfully, standing beside him at the foot of her bed. "Honestly, I'm worried." She knew those words were not the words that the captain wanted to hear, and were likely not the wisest words to be said, but Lanoria said them one way or another. Better to tell the truth now than lie and get beaten later. "We can't just let her die. What do we do? You must have a spell or potion or something to help her." The man's voice was soft and delicate, the features on his face reminiscent of pity and worry. A master in love with his slave? Lanoria thought incredulously. No, it could never be. And yet, there he was, wearing the unmistakable look of devotion and misery that only someone in love could know. Perhaps they are lovers. Perhaps she bears his child, she thought to herself. Yes, that's it. He's concerned for his child inside of her. He doesn't truly care for her. No one could care for a slave. They- we -are objects. Nothing more, nothing less. Lanoria's thoughts were dismal and frank, as she would not let herself be carried away by hope or emotion. She'd made that mistake before, and it was not one she intended to repeat. For as long as she lived, she wold never surrender herself completely to another human being as she had her husband, for when they were taken away from you, or you them, you find suddenly that you have no desire to continue your life. Then why do I keep living? Why don't I thrust myself off this ship, why don't I embrace death? she asked herself. Because, no matter how hard you try to crush it, you will always have hope. You will always harbor in your heart some silly, small hope that you and Anson will be reunited, a malicious voice whispered in the back of her head. You will never be happy again, because you will never find him, but you will still torture yourself by continuing on with life. Silly, stupid Linny. You're nothing. You're worthless.

"Lanoria? Lanoria? Don't tell me you're coming down with something, too." The captain said, distressed. Lanoria shook herself from her thoughts, shifting her attention back to the situation at hand. "I'm sorry, my captain. My thoughts carried me away. I promise it will not happen again." she replied dutifully, respectfully. Just as she'd been taught. "I could care less about your little reverie, woman, just please help me fix her. She's getting worse." However frantic and pitiful he sounded, he spoke the truth. Anya's skin had lost all its color, and was covered in a thick film of sweat. Her breaths were rapid yet shallow, and her pulse getting weaker by the minute. Now when they spoke to her, she wouldn't respond, and it appeared as though she didn't even understand what they were saying. And that was when she was conscious, which was getting to be less and less often. At first, she would fall into a light sleep, and could be awakened with a small shaking or whisper in her ear. Now, though, she fell in and out of consciousness, and when her eyes were closed, there was nearly nothing that could wake her. Perhaps the most troublesome symptom of all, however, were her spontaneous spasms. She would suddenly begin shaking uncontrollably, whining or pouting and shaking her head violently as though she were afraid Killian and Lanoria were hurting her. It seemed she was losing grip of reality, forgetting places, names, faces. It could just mean that the sickness was taking an extreme toll on her, sucking all the energy from her mind and body so that she no power within her to think properly. It could also mean, however, that the magic that had coursed through her body, the magic that had transformed her into another person, was still in her, making her sick. It was not an unheard of occurrence, though quite rare. Every time Lanoria had witnessed it, it ended in a slow and torturous death for the victim. The woman did not care to share that bit of information with Killian, though.

"Yes, I admit, she's not getting any better." Anya said distantly. "That's a bit of an understatement, don't you think?" Killian said toxicly, getting frustrated with her lack of progress. If his princess- er, Anya -was going to get any better, they would have to act fast. He would do whatever was needed, but he had no idea what that might have been. "You're right. The girl's condition is troubling." Killian thought he might just shake Lanoria until she said something useful. "Would you stop repeating what I say and do something useful, woman!" he shouted at her. For some reason, his tone seemed to get her hopping. "Yes, of course, master." she replied quickly. "I'll need my caraway, it should be in my quarters at the queen's palace." she stated, finally working efficiently. Her words, however, seemed to frustrate Killian even further. "You couldn't have retrieved your things at the castle?" he asked disbelievingly. Lanoria, however, instead of answering him, held her hand out and summoned her herb box. Magically, it appeared in her hand. She opened it up, rifled through it and, when she found what she was looking for, took it out and ground it into dust with her hands, all the while taking pleasure in seeing Killian's shocked stare out of the corner of her eye. "Yes, captain?" she asked innocently, trying to pry open Anya's mouth. She was still sleeping.

"H-how did you do that?" he asked, voice curious and slightly fearful. "It's a basic summoning spell." she told him, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "I will something to come to me, and it does."

"Then why wouldn't you will yourself gold or, or..." he asked excitedly, mind abuzz. The things a pirate could do with that sort of power! "I'm a good witch, captain. A wiccan. My magic must be used for unselfish and harmless reasons. If I infringe upon that, I lose my powers." she replied. Killian deflated. "Bloody waste of magic, then." he mumbled to himself disappointedly. Lanoria giggled to herself. "Might I get back to the dilema at hand, captain?" she asked him, a foolish smile playing at her lips. "Please do." he replied seriously, the pleasure of the moment fading almost immediately after it had passed. His tone wiped the grin off her face and forced her to turn her attention back to Anya. "I've some ground up caraway here, and it should help with her fever. I just need her to swallow it." she told him. "I suggest we mix it with some water and have her drink it." At her words, Killian nodded solemnly and left the room. He came back quickly after with a chalice of water.

Anya awoke once again from her disturbing reverie, one in which Killian had been shouting at her to mop the deck, and no matter how furiously she scrubbed, he just kept yelling and yelling. The crew had all been watching, too, laughing at her with the faces of pigs and monsters. The girl, however, was so withdrawn from reality that she had not even acknowledged that she'd been asleep, or that she was now awake. Both worlds clashed together in her mind. There was no longer a barrier between them.

She could see vaguely one of the two shadows at the foot of her mattress approach her, saw that it was the man with the almost-familiar face. He stood directly above her, extended his hand towards her. She felt her head being lifted up and tasted a vile liquid being forced into her mouth. There was another slight muscle spasm, though it was quickly subdued by the second shadow, before she forced herself to swallow it. It left a dirty feeling in her mouth, a gritty texture on her tongue. She swore she could feel it traveling through her body, feel an incredible warmth wherever it was. It was in her throat, then her chest, and finally settled in her stomach. At that moment, the pain that was within her weakened, and her rigid muscles eased into a position of relative comfort. It was as if the liquid was a magic serum.

Anya sucked in a deep breath, relishing the fact that she did not feel poignant jabs of discomfort at doing it, and opened her mouth as if to say something. However, no words came out. She was trying to recall what she had wanted to say, and beyond that, how to say it. She knew that at one point, she had been able to speak. Quite aptly, as well. But now, it was as if she were an infant, incapable of understanding, much less speaking, a language. The language the shadows spoke was dimly familiar, tickling the back of her mind. She could almost understand it, much like she could almost recognize the man's face. Almost, however, was the key word. Still Anya's mind remained clueless and inert, not able to process or comprehend the environment around her. No matter how desperately she tried to overcome it, exhaustion overwhelmed her and sickness engulfed her. She was seized again by the irrepressible hand of sleep and dreams, and it dragged her down slowly to its depths. She could for a while keep herself awake by shacking her head vigorously or pinching her arms and stomach, but eventually she succumbed.

Anya found herself being shaken awake by her servant, Victoria, who wore on her face a look of excitement and compassion. "Princess Anya, princess Anya? You must wake up! Your mother, she's gone into labor. Your brother or sister is being born as of now. You must wake up!" The young woman jumped eagerly out of her bed at Victoria's words, happier than she was sure she would ever be in her lifetime. Not only did this child mean that her family would grow, that she would have a sister or a brother to teach and love, but it meant that she could fulfill her dream. At long last, having another royal in the family meant that she could become what God had sent her to do on this Earth, what she was meant for. Unsurprisingly, the child's birth brought veritable delight to her.

She ran down the majestic steps and wound through the labyrinth-like walls of her father's great castle until she found at last her parent's room. She could hear from outside the door her mother screaming in pain and many a squeal from a green servant who had never before been exposed to the realities of childbirth. She banged obnoxiously on the door, as it was surely locked, until finally a young woman peeked skeptically out and set your eyes on her. "Anya, sweetling, why don't you come back after the child is born? You can wait with your father in the library." she said, speaking as though she were a child. The princess would not allow for that. "She's my mother, I will see her now." she said sternly. Seeing the determined twinkle in Anya's eye the servants had come to know and abhor, the woman groaned loudly in surrender. "Alright, come in. But you stay out of the way and don't say a word." Anya couldn't have been happier to hear those words.

The birthing process was long and laborious, and Anya could see why she had heard so many uneasy shouts from outside the door. Her mother's sex had spread to at least five times its normal size, and the thing emerging from it looked less human than a savage gorilla. It was unclear which body part was coming out first, and the whole shriveled body was covered in a thick layer of sticky slime. At some points, Anya could not bear to watch and turned her head away, sickened by the image. Her mother had meanwhile been yelling and screaming in pain the entire time, often clutching tightly onto the bed post or a servant. The birth seemed to Anya so long and so arduous and so agonizing that she began to wonder why on Earth any woman would subject herself to this kind of torture, but the moment the child, a boy who was named James, was cleaned and laid in her arms, she understood. She held in her hands the most vulnerable, purest being in all the universe. Something that relied entirely on its mother and father, on her. It's beautiful shining blue eyes, very similar to hers, took her breath away and the delicate yawn the child gave right before it fell asleep shattered Anya's heart. It was at that very moment, the moment where she could finally pursue her dreams and achieve them, that she began to question them, as has happened countless times to countless people. If I take my vows and become a nun, then I shall never have a child of my own. I will never again experience the feeling of...this. Of holding a baby in my arms, a bundle of warmth and joy. No child will ever crawl or walk to me, call me mother for the first time, care for my in my old age. I will never have that, if I take my vows. The thought weighted heavily on her, made her seriously reconsider her decision. The boy meant that she could devote herself to God, that she could give her life to the salvation of her people. There always needed to be a child in the family, someone who could carry on the royal bloodline. Her parents had had two children before Anya was born, one girl one boy, but both died during childbirt.h And until now, Anya had been the sole child to the king and queen, which meant that she would have to marry within the next year and assume the role of queen. But now that a brother had been born to her, she was finally relinquished from that archaic duty and free to pursue another, more holy one. But do I truly want that? Would I rather live a sacred, divine life with only God at my side, or one full of materialistic goods and sins, but with a husband and child to love me? It was a dilemma she had wrestled with before, but now that she had held a child, felt the love she was capable of, it had taken on a much more real quality. How could she ever-

The man-shadow was stroking her cheek, speaking to her quietly in his secret language. Anya could not see the other shadow in her quarters, and assumed that she and the man-shadow were alone. His face was becoming clearer and clearer to her, and she felt a word on the tip of her tongue. The exhaustion she had felt the last time she was conscious had vanished almost entirely, and her mind was functioning more efficiently. She opened her mouth and reached for the man's face, placing her hand on his cheek. Closing her eyes, she summoned all her energy on this one task, concentrating intently on remembering. She saw that same man standing in front of her speaking to her, giving her orders. She felt his completely naked body pressed to hers, and a fear that shook her to her core. She heard a laugh, cocky and and boisterous and arrogant. And it was after she heard that laugh that the word came to her, the memories came flooding as vivid as day.

"K-Kil-Killi-Killian?" She felt his mouth twitch with her hand, and she knew that he was giving her his trademark self-assured smile.