Night falls before Hecate can muster enough skill to stop it. Darkness falls and she finds herself relegated to her own bed for the first time in over a week. Two tiny girls sleep in bassinets on either side of the bed. A book lying on the surface of her nightstand sticks out in her periphery. The title pulls her towards the edge of a rabbit hole. She shifts positions to peer inside the nearby bassinet. The sight of a tiny chest rising and falling does little to mollify her anxiety.
Her forgiving navy pajamas press against her skin in all of the wrong places as her feet secure themselves in a pair of slippers. On the other side of the bed she lifts Calypso from her enclosure. She carefully secures her in the crook of her arm. With her free arm she wheels the bassinet to the side of the bed nearest to her right next to the other black bassinet. A voice whispers that she should return the newborn to the contraption.
As she lowers herself to the edge of the bed her hair hangs against her back. Wisps of hair curl in different directions. Her brown eyes are weary. Even her thickest under eye cream is no remedy for the deep shadow grey circles beneath her eyes. She's certain that the past week has offered her at least three new grey hairs, and an extra line in the corner of her left eye. The doubt that hugs her is a stark contrast to the maternity pajamas that are as form fitting as a shower curtain. A pair of eyes looking in her direction disrupt her intrusive thinking.
"Mistress I have been assured that we should be sleeping."
Her tiny foot shoots out from the security of a lavender gown with an owl embroidered across her chest. Her fingers wriggle wildly trying to escape the flaps of her gown that prevent their freedom. The vein on her forehead pulsates as her face grows red in frustration. Hecate shifts positions in the bed, until her back is leaning against the headboard. Her polished toes rest against the top of the duvet. She grimaces as she draws her knees closer to her chest. She carefully situates the littlest girl on her lap. She unfolds the flaps of the gown, and frees a pair of tiny hands. The three middle fingers of Calypso's left hand immediately find their way to her mouth.
Without a single glance at the clock Hecate offers a furrowed brow, "I assure you that you ate forty seven minutes ago."
Her perfectly symmetrical lips pucker as she offers a throaty string of disapprovals. Certain that her night shall be filled with endless feeding Hecate secures a pillow to better position Cackle's tiniest resident. As she divorces the top button of her pajama blouse her eyes fall upon a gnarly yellowing bruise in the center of her chest. For a moment she shudders at the thought of a nurse frantically compressing her chest in an effort to get her to meet… a whimper shifts her glance.
Dimity rolls onto her side and greets the red digits of her clock. She's managed a solid three point six hours of sleep. A perfect time for her insomnia to kick in for the night. She slips a robe atop her ever expanding abdomen. She doesn't bother to illuminate the room as she vacates her bed. She exits the room, and wanders down the hall. She nears the end of the hall, and finds light spilling out from beneath Hecate's door. She hesitates outside the door contemplating whether or not her presence will be a disturbance.
"Some of us are wide awake in here," Hecate calls from the other side of the door.
Dimity pushes the door open, and enters the room. As she secures the door behind her the scene catches her off guard. Hecate sits at the edge of her bed with her feet pressed against the bottom rail. Her elbows dig into her legs as her chin rests against her fist. A baggy navy colored pair of satin pajamas complete with spit up on the right shoulder suggests even the best witch is struggling. Her long hair is haphazardly secured into a loose top-knot.
"This is your second night home from the hospital. You should be sleeping. They appear to be."
"I cannot seem to reach any agreement with a peaceful slumber."
Dimity furrows her brow, "Are you sitting at the edge of your seat watching them breathe?"
"I get the sense that you believe I am descending into madness."
"Are you worried that they will stop breathing in their sleep?"
"Perhaps, I am sitting here calculating the statistics on the matter," Hecate admits.
"Go to sleep."
"It is a fickle foe."
"You cannot take care of them on zero sleep," Dimity warns.
Hecate doesn't offer a response. Dimity watches as the deputy headmistress shifts in her seated position. As the silence envelopes them Dimity finds herself monitoring Hecate's respirations.
"Are you taking anything for pain?"
"Perhaps your senses fail you, but I just returned from the shower."
"Pharmaceuticals," Dimity clarifies.
"Certainly not."
"Are you having difficulty breathing, still?"
"I have been assured that it shall soon resolve. It is only a temporary ailment."
"Which is why you are grimacing with every single breath?"
"Please don't worry about me."
"Are you refusing sleep because of your anxiety that one of them will stop breathing, or because there is no comfortable position to be found when you lay down?"
"I would find a likely combination of both."
"You're gasping for air. Despite your adamant disagreement I did read your discharge paperwork. Are you having sharp pain?"
"The process of uterine involution is…"
Dimity cuts her off, "I am not referring to your uterus. Are you having sharp pains when you breathe?"
"I invoke my right not to incriminate myself."