A/N: Hello, and merry Christmas if you celebrate it!

My apologies for the delay D: I had countless assignments due, plus I had to take on another job, so I had very little time to work on this.

What I will say beforehand is that there are some sensitive topics in this chapter. I'm not a medical professional, nor can I vouch that I have experienced any of these issues personally. So, I will apologise in advance if I have not portrayed them accurately. No offence was intended.

Anyway! I hope you enjoy the chapter :)

allyelle~

To the woman he said,

'I will make your pains in childbearing very severe;

with painful labour you will give birth to children.

Your desire shall be contrary to your husband,

but he shall rule over you.'

—Genesis 3:16

.:. 10 .:.

Subaru Sakamaki paused at the top of the staircase and craned down at the scene below.

Reiji's expression was smug once he released Shu's arm, whereas the other stood frozen, his front-profile concealed. When he vacated the tavern, he did not swerve left, back to the forest and to the castle; no, he went right, deeper into the village and towards the docks. If Subaru did not have Yui's body in his arms, he would have chased after him.

The doctor, who had a perk in his step, passed him on the stairway and entered a room at the end of the hall, heeding to Cordelia's gesture. Subaru followed and placed Yui onto the wooden-framed bed. It was clean enough for an inn, though he did not want to think about how many drunken merchants—or perhaps himself, too intoxicated to recall the evening—had lain there with a prostitute.

Kanato dipped into the room with a basin of warm water and cloth. The boy idolised his mother and only averted his eyes to turn-up his nose at the woman occupying the bed, and for a moment, Subaru was certain he would spit and curse her for polluting it with her sin-stained filth. Yet with a caress and a promise of song, his outburst was abandoned until he met Ayato at the door.

The red-head was never one to exclude himself from the drama, and after an insult was thrown at his teddy, their bickering begun. Usually Laito would take Ayato's side, and with a threat of arson, Kanato would storm away. This evening, however, the peacemaker was absent.

Laito had been hired to entertain a dinner party hosted at the Akiyama manor, the very one Shu had attended before he met up with him at the tavern. It seemed like a lifetime ago that they were riding back to the castle, listening to Shu's complaints about his fiancé and her family: Lady Mirai's eyesore of a gown and her mother's insufferable chattering. It was only Lord Akiyama with whom he could tolerate. He appreciated the silence in a room and did not ask empty questions.

Absently, Subaru wondered where his brother had gone and what Reiji had uttered to make him pale and flee. Though with the flurry of commotion, he had no time to dwell.

Cordelia wrung out the cloth and placed it upon Yui's forehead while the doctor unloaded his bag, scarily composed despite the stress of the situation. The barmaid shooed away her two sons, and then, realising he still lingered, turned to him with her hands placed onto hips.

"Are you the father?"

Subaru blushed at her directness.

"W-What the fuck is it to you?"

"I don't have time for half-answers," she snapped, sparking a piece of flint to light the candles and hearth; Reiji drew the curtains to limit draft. The small room was womblike, dark and warm. "If you are, then you can stay and hold her hand for God's sake. If not, then get out. This is a woman's duty." Cordelia glared at the doctor. "Traditionally."

"Would you rather that I, one of the few qualified physicians, sit downstairs twiddling my thumbs?" he asked, rolling up the sleeves of his jacket. "Of course, I do not doubt your ability. I'm certain your knowledge of human anatomy is proficient. Your business with those whoring women is successful, no?"

Cordelia threw him a withering look and angled her chin, making tidy work of removing the abundance of Yui's layers. Subaru whipped his head to the side, so fast his neck cracked.

"I might as well be," he murmured in response to her question; his jaw and hands were clenched. "Do you see the bastard who fucked her and fled? No! 'Cause I'm the only goddamn father that kid is going to know!"

"I did not ask for likeness," she rebuffed, guiding Yui into an upright position. A goblet of hot caudle was pushed past her lips, and he could smell the sweet spices from where he stood. "Now leave. If you are wanted, you will be fetched."

Cordelia's nostrils flared when he did not move, resembling a bull taunted with red. Yet when he met Yui's large, pleading eyes, he wavered.

"P-Please, Subaru," she said. "It'll be okay—I'll be okay."

Realistically, he knew it would be a bad decision to remain in the room no matter his heroic intentions. He would be unable to stomach the sight of blood, her bared skin and the sound of her screams. He would be inclined to pry the doctor away—the sole person who would be able to help her—and cause unnecessary fuss.

Subaru resigned and tapped his knuckles against her forehead. "You better keep a strong head, Cricket. Or I'll kill you myself."

She flashed him a weak smile. "Always."

He closed the door and spotted Ayato slouching against the wall a few feet ahead. Subaru cursed when he withdrew his money pouch and a half-emptied bottle of liquor. Even now, in a dire situation, his shameless habits do not cease.

"Took you long enough," Ayato grumbled. "C'mon, bets are on—girl or boy?"

He hissed between his teeth, "Get lost," before shoving into his shoulder on his way past. "Like I'm gonna entertain that shit tonight."

"Scared? It's only natural. You're in the presence of the great Yours Truly, after all."

He barged into him with equal force, and against his better judgement, Subaru stopped him before he descended the stairs.

"...What are you betting on?"

Ayato quirked an eyebrow. "Interested?" Subaru turned his face away and he continued, jiggling the bag of gold. "A girl. It's got to be."

"Why?"

He looked towards the room occupied by the trio, and for an instant, a troubled shadow crossed his face.

"Well, we never get what we want, do we?"

.:.

It was either very late or very early, depending on one's perspective. To the stumbling men exiting the taverns who hadn't yet greeted their beds, it was the former, and to the yawning labourers carefully closing their doors not wake their slumbering household, it was the latter. Shu Sakamaki supposed he joined the former, too. His eyes were tired and his head ached.

The sky was white and the morning frost blossomed across the rail, glittering when it caught the sun. He stood and watched as a flock of gulls hovered above. They swooped down to a child bursting with giggles and tossing out showers of breadcrumbs. They stole the scraps and took flight, and the child ran after them, but their little legs could not keep up. Realising the futileness, they puckered their lips and joined hands with their parents before boarding the ship.

The dock was full of families, the poor and the wealthy, pursuing a dream this insignificant village could not provide.

"To be that free," he mumbled, his insides twisting with envy.

It was unknown to him why his legs had carried him here, but he did not question it, for the cold, salty air settled him. Hours had passed since he left the tavern, and he wondered about the fate of Yui. Had the child been born? Did it live? Did she live?

He exhaled and his breath misted. Shu was surprised no-one had recognised him. His fine clothes and the bright gold of his hair were usually unmistakable.

"Goodness, sir. Are you alright? You're going to catch your death in this chill!"

Shu whipped around at the voice. It was Seiji Komori with his weary smile and his kind eyes, holding a steaming pewter. He did not possess the energy to form a greeting, so he turned back to the vessel. He heard footsteps crunching the snow, and the minister appeared beside him. Silently, he extended the cup, and the strong scent of coffee wafted to his nose.

"Here," Seiji said. "It looks like you've been out here far longer than I have."

He blinked in surprise. Yui had her father's eyes, with their selfless depth and their rosy hue. It was common for the minister to compare his daughter to her mother, but Shu thought it strange when their own similarity was clear. There were few as foolishly kind as the Komori's, and few to have suffered the same misfortune.

Shu gave a nod of appreciation and took the cup into his hands, relishing in its warmth.

"They won't let me see her," he explained, and Shu shifted his gaze to him. "She's still in labour. It could be hours until they're born. I'm just..." he shook his head to dismiss any budding concern. "God will forgive. He is merciful. She will see spring, and the flowers, and your wedding too, sir. I believe it."

Nausea crept into his stomach at the mere mentioning of his wedding. It was not the doing of nerves, but dread.

"Her lover," Shu spoke into his drink, "the child's father... what do you think?"

"What do I think?" he repeated, taken aback by the sudden question. "It depends on whom you're asking: myself, as the village clergy, or as her father. As a servant of God, I believe he should be found and he should be punished. As her father... well, I should like to meet him. He must be an impressive man to make my daughter stray from her faith."

Shu snorted. "Impressivley foolish."

"What be you? I did not consider you the sort to take an interest in these affairs."

"I am not interested," he said. "Interest requires mystery... she is merely a deluded woman, and he is merely a selfish man."

"Deluded," he rolled the word around on his tongue. "Yes, I suppose. Love may delude, but it is a precious thing. I feel sad that she, too, should have lost it so young."

Seiji slipped a hand into his breast pocket and withdrew a piece of creased, yellowed paper. He straightened it on the rail to reveal a watercolour painting of a young woman wearing a lovely smile. Her features were delicate and her long hair was plaited and embedded with flowers.

"Hana, my wife," the minister said, and Shu had to wonder why he was sharing such an intimate memento with him. Perhaps he was lonely, with not a soul to share his burdens.

"She painted this herself," he continued, "her family owned a florist. When I first asked her to marry me, do you know what she told me? 'Wait a little while longer, Seiji, for I do not love you yet.' I will always believe, that when she died, she passed her spirit onto Yui. They are one of the same. I only wish she had refused the marriage I arranged, like Hanako had. Then perhaps... perhaps she could have kept her freedom."

His gaze met the ship, which had been freed from its cleats, sailing out to sea. The families left behind waved their handkerchiefs and hid their tears into the shoulder of another.

"Instead, this love she pleads has tricked her with freedom and shackled her with sin."

Then, as though snapped out of a dream, Seiji laughed and gently rested a hand on his forearm.

"Sorry, my dear boy, my tongue seems to have run away with me. I came here," he craned his neck to the church door to see his young ward awake, barefoot and peeping. "To thank you—and your brother too, of course. From what he remembers, Sora told me how you helped her when he could not. Thank you. There are very few who would."

Shu grimaced and said, "I wouldn't waste your thanks on somebody who doesn't deserve them."

.:.

The midday sun slipped through the cracks in the curtains, casting lines of yellow light into the inn's chamber. The scent of dust, old-wood and smoke rotted the air, the beads of sweat clinging to her bared skin drying in the winter chill.

Yui Komori had felt this pain before. It had been dimmer and heart-wrenching, with bloodstained sheets. In her madness, she was half-convinced history was repeating itself, and the sounds spilling from her lips were not of pain, but reels of pleads and prayers.

She'd lost three of her husband's children within the first two years of their marriage. The first two miscarriages were early and unpreventable, yet the last was almost full-term. There were many things she had blamed: the famine, exertion, stress, and most of all, herself. When he was born, Reiji detached all feelings and conducted his analysis. The baby was small, weak and unformed, his veined, paper-like skin radiating no heat and no heartbeat.

She liked to think of God's intervention as kind. Perhaps he had the wrong temperament to be able to survive in this cruel world. Still, he was her son, he was her black-haired beauty, snatched from life too soon.

The months which followed were grey, and she became withdrawn and husked. Reiji was a stoic man, but she knew he felt something after that loss. He grew irritable and forgetful, his mind elsewhere. The small amount of affection they had collated over the years crumbled; to be in each other's company was stifling and painful. They were living as two broken strangers.

She remembered the brittle autumn wind when they buried him. It disturbed the dying leaves of the old oak, some falling into the tiny pit where a crop of dandelions now bloomed. He crouched down beside her, offered his handkerchief, and dusted the soil from his cuffs.

"Yui," he had said, "I will take my leave on the next ship. I intend to study at the city's university for a while."

"Y-You're leaving... me alone?" she asked, wide-eyed, clutching her child's swaddling cloth to her bosom.

He furrowed his brow. "Do not be so conceited. I am making this journey for you, to cure you of your infertility."

"Reiji, please," she sobbed. "I am not one of your vials to study and perfect. I... I just have bad luck. I pushed myself too hard. Don't leave—at least, not now. I beg you. I cannot bear to be alone at a time like this."

He adjusted his glasses and tightened his lips. "And equally, I cannot bear to stay."

Yui, who had been hysterical with grief, was suddenly flushed numb. "Fine, go," her voice cracked, "do as you wish."

Reiji stood and cleared his throat, staring down at the mound of earth where his wife had lain their unused, patchwork blanket and a wreath of autumn blossoms. He rubbed his arm, indecisive whether or not to offer a gesture of comfort, but her hunched form was closed-off and nettled, and he hadn't wished to be stung.

He left in the spring, and that year, Yui could not bring herself to smile when the flowers rainbowed the fields.

She did not see him again for four years.

It was possible that Reiji was being kind in his own way; he held onto the belief that if he cured her condition, then everything would return to normal. He did not take something as foolish as her emotions into account. Conversely, Yui's only solace would be for a hand to hold whilst she weathered the storm. But it was natural for two different people to hold two different definitions for kindness.

Her days were lonely after Reiji fled. She could have spilled her heart to her father, or perhaps to Subaru, but they would worry, and she did not want to drag any innocents into her despair. Only Reiji would understand, and he did not wish to stay by her side.

It was the third year after his departure when she met him, on one blistering summer morning. Waves of heat rose from the forest underbrush and slinked higher through the trees. It had rained the previous night and the floor was bogged, and Yui made the unwise choice to use her cart.

The wheels sunk into a well of mud, and Earl, her draught horse, huffed and cocked his head, as though to assert his earlier resilience as, I told you so, you stupid human. Now what are you going to do?

"I don't know!" she shrieked in response, flunking down onto the rear. "I don't... I don't know."

Yui hid her face into her hands and wailed. The sound of her cries echoed through the clearing, startling the roosting birds.

Then he came, astride his horse, with soft eyes and a defeated sigh.

"I thought I heard your hysterics from the village," he had said, half-smiling. "It... it's been a while."

It was such a welcome presence that her tears threatened to return. She used her forearm to dry her eyes and stared up at his extended hand. It was an offer of forgiveness, of aid and of hope.

He flexed his fingers at her pause. "I don't have all day, you know."

Yui gave a hoarse laugh. "I-I can stand by myself," she insisted, shuffling and hopping down from the board. Mud splashed her dress. "It is you who needs a hand to dismount from your horse. You cannot help me from all the way up there, can you?"

He snorted and turned his face away. "Who said anything about helping you?"

She stuck out her own hand and said, "I believe it was implied. Or did you just want to hold my hand?"

His smile turned impish as he swung himself from the saddle. Yui recoiled her arm and dragged her feet through the sticky earth to stand beside him, running her palm along the horse's velvety neck. His hand snuck up to hers and hesitantly, they touched and entwined.

Yui stuttered his name as colour bloomed her cheeks; she was a fool to taunt a flirtatious man.

"Obviously," he teased, clamping her hand between both of his. "A woman's hands are always warm..."

"Girl!" A harsh, distant voice cried. "Can you hear me? By the Gods, stay awake!"

Someone shook her and slapped her cheeks; there was a pressure on her hand. It did not radiate the same safe, tingling sensation of him from her memories. This hand was dainty yet firm, with their long, pointed nails cutting into her palm. Yui blinked away the tears and attempted to still the spinning room. There was a stroke of lilac to her left, and hovering above her suspended legs was a dark form, flitting between the spots of sunlight.

She whimpered and fisted the sheets. "I... I'm tired."

The pain was indescribable, and white stars ringed the edges of her vision. Her abdomen was knotted, and the ropes continued stretching and tightening. Eventually, they would fray and snap.

"Just a little while longer," Cordelia said, and something warm and damp settled itself onto her forehead. "Don't give into it—don't close your eyes."

"You have a nerve to complain, Yui Komori," Reiji groused. "Either conquer this choice of yours, or die by it."

To die... like her mother had. Like so many good, Christian women had. In the eyes of God, neither of them should survive this. She'd ruined hers and a handful of other lives for love—for happiness. Some could even say she was selfish for bringing a child doomed for ostracism into an already blackened world. But Yui was determined to be strong; she had promised to be strong.

She would not allow this ruin to be in vain.

Yui fumbled for the woman's hand once more, delving into the delusion that it belonged to him.

"Live," she imagined him saying, "live to see the spring. This winter is not forever."

"Push!" Cordelia half-gasped, half-shouted, "now!"

.:.

The child gave their first cry as the sky drowsed to the deep amber and rust of evening. Yui heaved a mighty sigh as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. The babe was snatched from the fluid-soaked sheets, cut free and rubbed dry. They howled and she twitched, anxious for them to be safe within her arms.

"Reiji," she breathed, "give them to me."

The doctor's back faced her as he held them in one arm, the silver scissors glinting in the dim light. Perhaps the labour process had turned her mad, but she had an awful premonition about his hesitation; the blade of the scissors were not closed. He wanted her lover dead, and surely his child was no exception.

She inhaled sharply, scrunched her eyes and yelled, "Reiji!"

He swivelled on his heel. "Don't give me such a dreadful face. It is not within my best interest to be imprisoned."

"W-What—?"

"Unfortunately," he began with a sour frown, "she is like you."

The bundle was finally given to her and she choked back a sob. She did not dare smile, for the child wore their very own letter—a scarlet birthmark splotched across their face. It was a natural oddity, of course, but many would believe it to be a mark of the devil and a mark of her deeply cast sin.

"What else could be expected coming from a mother like me?" she murmured, mapping out the shape with her fingertip: over her left cheek, nose and right eye. "It looks like you have not escaped the letter's wrath either, little one. I'm so sorry. But... at least it is not sewn into your heart. You are loved, and you will be loved by those who deserve you."

Their eyes, as pink and as doll-like as her own, winked up at her as though her face was a beam of blinding sunlight. She had a nest of caked, white-blond hair, and Yui brushed away the lock curling between her eyebrows; she broke into a wide, gummy yawn.

She laughed. "Oh, are you sleepy? Me too."

"Rest, then," Reiji said in his stern, professional tone as he packed away his equipment. "I will not be held accountable for anything that might befall upon you once I have left this room."

He dipped his head in farewell, and Yui called out to him before he vanished beyond the doorway.

"Thank you for helping me. You... you didn't have to do any of this."

"I did not do this for you," he amended. "I aided you out of my own curiosity and entertainment."

Yui lowered her eyes. "Whether it was for your own selfish reasons or not, you still helped me. Know that I am grateful to you, Reiji."

He considered her for a moment more before sidestepping Cordelia out of the room. The barmaid—who carried a teetering pile of fresh bed linen—gave the doctor a dubious look and kicked the door shut with her heel. Yui, presuming she wanted to strip the dirty sheets, adjusted the infant's position and attempted to rise, but a hand pushed her back down.

"Going somewhere?" Cordelia challenged, raising a slender eyebrow; the tower of sheets were discarded on the chair. Yui swallowed and remained silent, the woman intimidating her somewhat. "You're staying in this room until I say otherwise. He has paid for a weeks keep, and I shan't have you stumbling downstairs and disturbing my business."

Yui tilted her head. "He?"

"Yes, he. A nuisance."

Cordelia gave an exasperated sigh and marched towards the door. Sore, Yui winced as she rocked forward to see out into the hallway. Subaru Sakamaki sat leaning against the wall with one leg tucked into his chest and the other outstretched, posing as a potential hazard to passersby. He was asleep, with his head lolled and his hair flopping down to his chin. Her heart fluttered at his dedication.

"They are wrong who say you aren't kind, Subaru."

The older woman rolled her eyes and thrusted a lukewarm pewter of the sweet, medicinal drink towards her to silence any more unwanted opinions. Yui sipped with a smile as she stared down at her sleeping daughter, feeling a sense of calm and relief. However, she knew that only one obstacle had been conquered, and a minefield awaited them outside of this chamber.

It was the calm before the storm.

.:.

She awoke to the sound of humming.

It was a familiar, soothing sound, a sound which grew to be her lullaby during the many months they had spent together. She would always ask him to stay the night—mainly because she did not want him to become entangled with the dangers of the pitch-black forest—but he had a skill to wind innocent words into something of an... inappropriate nature.

They were forced into closeness on her narrow, creaking bed, but Yui knew he would pull her close even if they had all the space in the world. She was a warm and soft blanket, he would insist, and she would lie with her head against his chest. She liked listening to the rhythmic thumps of his heart and the pattern of his breathing. It was an affirmation that she was not alone.

"I bet he never held you like this," he said to her once, smothered into her hair.

"No," she replied, and she swore his arms tightened.

More than lovers, they were friends, and they possessed enough trust to be each other's confidant.

He was suited to listening rather than giving advice. Perhaps he could not trust himself with words when he could not find the will to better his own life. He refused to be a hypocrite. Nevertheless, he listened to the pain of her heart, would improvise lyrics to make her smile, and hum the tune to lull her into slumber.

Groggily, Yui rose and swiped the collected sleep from the corners of her eye-lids. It was mid-morning, judging by the cold sunlight blanching his hair and skin.

Hearing the rustling of sheets, he lifted his head and said, "How nice of you to join us."

He was stood at the window, behind the wooden bassinet, holding their daughter in his arms. She appeared even smaller in his.

Yui, struck by panic, whipped her head towards the door. "H-How are you here? What if someone saw—"

"Don't concern yourself with trivial things," he interupted. "I'm here. I had to see you... and her."

His gaze flickered downwards as his thumb traced over her scarlet birthmark. His eyes were sad—guilty. It made her sick knowing something else was going to torture his conscience.

She hiccuped on a sob and childishly extended her arms out to him; he indulged her by sitting on the edge of the bed. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around him and nestled her face into the crook of his neck. She broke down. By his appearance, it suddenly made everything very real and very terrifying.

She had been strong and independent for too long.

"I... I thought I wouldn't make it," she blubbered, "I thought I wouldn't be able to hold her for more than a moment."

He breathed a laugh and patted her head. "For such a headstrong woman, you have a pathetic nerve."

Yui raised her head and looked at him squarely. "I missed you," she said, with added composure, "more than you could possibly imagine."

"I know." He kissed her nose, then her lips. "I know."

She winced and whispered his name. "Are you still an—"

Their foreheads touched. "Not... not right now."

"I did it to protect you," Yui reminded him. "Everything I have, and will ever do, is to protect you and her. I don't care what happens to me, as long as those I care about are safe."

He transferred the babe into her arms, separated himself and pressed his palms against his forehead. "I don't deserve that. I'm a hypocrite. I condemn my old man for his behaviour, but recently... it's like I'm looking into a mirror. I can't stand it."

"Listen to me," Yui reasoned, cupping his face towards her. "Love is not a sin, no matter what anybody says. It is the most good and the most selfless choice there is. You are not your father. He is incapable of knowing what love is."

"Selfless," he scoffed. "Allowing myself to love you is the most selfish choice I have ever made, Yui."

"Your selfishness gave me her, and I will never wish her away, nor will I hate you for it. It was me who tempted you to begin with." She paused and inhaled through her nose. "I don't want to argue with you now. Just, please... hold me a little longer."

His eyes flashed in remembrance, and the faintest colour of pink dusted his cheekbones.

"Such a needy thing," he grumbled.

She curled into him and his fingertips danced across her neck. The infant blinked herself awake and flailed her arms. Yui smiled, and he let her tiny hand latch onto his finger.

"She's going to have it so hard," she murmured. "She's an innocent. She doesn't deserve the cruelty of this world."

"She'll manage. Winter children are the strongest," he said, casting a glance at the white flurry beyond the windowpane. He returned to the child, her features so like her mother's. "She's... like you. Beautiful."

He was usually careful with words, but those were accidental—honest. He was rarely so sweet on her.

His eyebrows creased at her gape. "What? Are you dissatisfied?"

Yui shook her head and chewed her lower-lip to repress a grin. "Part of me hoped she would be like you. This secret, this guilt... it would be out of my hands. It would be over."

"Seems that God of yours is adamant on making me suffer a bit longer. And you call him loving."

"He... He is," she insisted, but her statement held no conviction.

Her fingers toyed and slipped from the cold silver of her rosary. This life, created from the fire of passion, had already fallen from God's grace.

"Eve," she muttered, as though struck by a revelation. "Our Evie. A small, beautiful name for the damned."