Hey guys! I'm back! I know, it took forever...My b. I'll try not to take so long between uploads, I promise XD It's just that Magi's ending really...un-inspired me. It sucked all the motivation away. I seriously disagree with a number of things that happened...It was a mess, and think most of the writers on this platform would agree that plot just took a turn for the worst- at the very least structurally. Also I changed my username everyone! I think Sparrow-chan is super cute lol.

QUESTIONS:

Aun después de esto ¿ betsabe tendrá a Solomon? Y ¿ lo sobreprotegera para que no le ocurra lo mismo que a su hermana mayor? Yo pienso que este capítulo contestará a su pregunta...A también, sí, creo que Bathsheba será más protectora si ella tiene más niños. (Even after this, Bathsheba will have Solomon? And will she be overprotective of him so that the same thing does not happen to him as what happened to his older sister? I think that this chapter will answer to your question...Also, yes, I think that Bathsheba will be more protective if she has more kids.)

Oh no, not Tamar! What did she ever do to deserve this? Poor Bathesheba! And David too! And now that Ugo failed to save Tamar in time, I wonder what will happen in his and Batheaheba's relationship? Will he feel guilty? This chapter amde me so sad. :( That chapter made me sad too TT_TT. But an author must do what an author must do. There definitely will be drawbacks and shifts in relationships/personalities after this. We are officially moving into the second half of the story, and the atmosphere is no longer going to have hints of optimism and hope. Prepare your hearts XD.

By the way, I've been itching, where's Wahid? Wouldn't you like to know? XD Lol no worries, you'll be seeing him soon...

Catharsis

By Sparrow-chan

CHAPTER 18: Rain

The rain patters against the window, a calming, repetitive sound that lulls Bathsheba into a false sense of security. In the depths of winter, and only then, the days are like that: cold, dull, forgetful. Time drags on without sunlight, an eternity lasting barely a month. Night is hardly different than day, with only a trickle of energy buzzing anxiously at the bottom of her stomach.

Then David takes an audible breath, and reality comes crashing down on her.

It's terrible, that reality. She feels as though a rug has been pulled out from under her, except that there is no floor underneath to stop her fall. The full force, the entire meaning, of Tamar's death hasn't been made clear to her- and, terrifyingly, she doesn't think she'll ever understand it. She's not a Queen or a scholar anymore. She's a grieving mother- a childless mother- a mother wondering where in the world her daughter is hiding. Is she holding Arba's hand, is she dancing in the rain, are tulips being pealed open by her little fingers?

It's too cold for Tamar to be outside. She'll get sick-

I just want to know why.

"...Bath?"

Pitter, patter. Pitter, patter. The rain on the window sounds like Tamar's feet. They are- were- are always moving, those pretty little feet. Always rushing, always skipping, always dancing. Now they're as still as the long winter stays. Bathsheba can't stand the thought of looking at her child's body that still. When she looked, Tamar glowed with energy and light. Her cheeks were rosy and pink, as if she had just finished playing in the gardens was preparing for another round of tag.

"...It's time. We have to go."

David's voice is far away. She wants it to be farther away. Gone, actually. She hasn't been able to look at him. Tamar had been half of him. If she looks into that casket, inside will be half of him and half of her, pieces of themselves they can never get back. What kind of mother would allow her child to play in the mud, on a day like this? Tamar doesn't- didn't- doesn't mind getting dirty, but she'd hate a bed of dirt and rain.

"Bathsheba, please…"

He doesn't use the word please. By instinct she looks at him, but bringing her eyes to his chin is too much and she retches. The half-bile tastes almost as bad as her tears on the day her baby went to see Illah.

"You have to come. We can't ignore this."

His words bring her back to earth, back to their bedroom, the bedroom she gave birth to Tamar in-

"I-I can't." She stands from her chair by the window, her pulse racing. Her chest heaves laboriously. A pain wrecks her body without an origin, constricting her field of vision to her husband. David grasps her by the arms tightly, unforgivingly. He is never so rough. He never needs to be. Bathsheba looks away. She can't look at him. Oh, if only she could look at him. If she could lean on him. If she could give him all her pain so she wouldn't have to suffer so damn much. David searches her face for something, digging around in her expression. She feels his gaze rather than sees it. She has always been able to feel that hot, summer-like stare, especially these frigid, stale days.

"I know. But we failed, Bathsheba."

"I didn't fail!" She bursts out, unable to keep it in. She looks in David's direction, but her vision blurs so badly she can't make out his face. That pain shows it's claws: chest spasms, her hands shake, her jaw squeezes so tightly that opening her mouth is practically impossible. Her words come out sloppy and slurred, as if she had been drinking. She hasn't, but it seems like a good idea- almost as good an idea as shattering a flower vase had been the morning after Tamar's death. "I didn't fail. I love Tamar. I was by her side every day while she was sick because she's my daughter. My daughter, David. I love her. Do you? Do you love her like I do? Because-"

Her voice cracks and she collapses. David catches her, his arms pulling her into his embrace. Her legs give out and so does her pride, bringing her down to his chest as he struggles to keep her upright. One of her hands latches onto David desperately, her fingers digging into his muscles as if begging him to take care of her. Her other hand bangs on him, pounding against his chest spastically so he can feel the same heartbreak as her. The "cold-as-ice" beast Queen, famous for her composure, confidence and cockiness, becomes a mess in black, a puddle of despair and grief. She sobs hysterically, whining like a dog for the child she so desperately misses. It is an epic fall from someone respected to someone pitied.

David cradles his broken wife. He sinks down to the floor with the unsteady woman and gathers her onto his lap, soothingly stroking her hair as she disintegrates. Bathsheba still can't see him, she refuses to. But she sees his hair, so black and familiar, and moans in despair against his shoulder.

"We have to go." He repeats, his voice soft. "We have to go to the funeral, Bath."

"Darling."

"What?"

"Darling." Tears bubble over her eyelids once more. She cries as she speaks, but can't help it, closing her eyes against the world. "Not Bath. Darling. I'm still "Darling", aren't I?"

He is quiet.

"Darling," His voice gets even softer. "Darling, we have to go to the funeral."

"Her funeral." She corrects again. "It's her's."

His hands begin to shake. Is he feeling that massive, unrelenting pain too?

"Darling, we have to go to her funeral." His voice is so light she barely hears it.

"I know," She murmurs. "I know. But Goddammit, David, she was my everything."

"..." Now he doesn't respond.

"And," She laughs bitterly, tearfully, "I'll never know why."

They go to the funeral.

People who know no better cry. Elders awkwardly adopt solemn looks. Ester bites her lip so that her sobs won't be heard, grasping her daughter's hand tightly. Falan looks around for Tamar, unsettled by the depressing place she was brought to, and shivers at her mother's side. Arba keeps her face as still as possible, her eyes vacant and empty. The Queen and King don't cry. They stand as statues at the very front, their postures straight and statuesque. They look sad, yes, but wise and understanding, as if to tell their subjects that even the toughest of tragedies can be overcome. They thank people for coming with composed voices and shallow frowns, these traces of sadness showing enough emotion to content the public.

Very few people are allowed to go to the burial, and those who do don't know what to say to the monarchs as the princess dip into the ground. But King David and Queen Bathsheba don't expect them to say anything, and after the ground is sealed with dirt, they slowly go back to their castle, silent and stoic. Only after the doors of their bedroom are locked does Bathsheba go back to watching the rain.

He paints.

David sits with his back to Bathsheba, facing the easel as his wife reclines on the window seat directly behind him. The window seat is padded and pillowed- David brought in extra blankets for her. She sleeps there often, watching her husband paint. He used to not let her into his secret art room. Now he doesn't have the words to tell her to leave.

Bathsheba doesn't particularly like his hideaway. The portraits hung on every wall stare at her with gray eyes, as if blaming her for a crime. But she likes the silence, the heaviness. Being exposed to the stuffy air of the room makes it easy to fall asleep, and naps become frequent and long. For someone sleeping so much, it's hard to understand why she is always so tired.

David's art isn't too bad either. Though the progress is slow, she knows what he's painting. She knows who is going to smile at her from the blank canvas the moment he sets it up. Now that smile is appearing stroke by stroke before Bathsheba's eyes, a month after disappearing into the ground.

Bathsheba sits up. Tugging a blanket around herself, she tiptoes over to David. Each step feels like she's crossing a valley. David hears her and sets down the paintbrush, but doesn't turn around. She stands next to him for a moment, staring at the painting. Then she crosses in front of him, sits on his knee and burrows her face into his neck.

"David?"

"Yes?"

"...Do you miss her?"

David says nothing, and then he hugs her, fitting her head underneath his chin.

"I'm good at painting." In one long stroke, his hand sweep through her hair. "I can't bring her back, but we won't forget what she looked like."

They stare at the painting again.

Tamar smiles at her mother and her father, unburdened. She prays her baby is unburdened in heaven. Tears spring up again, like the tide of the ocean: an ebb and flow set in stone by a cosmic timer. She calms herself with deep breaths, clutching David's wild curls in her fists.

"David?"

"Yes?"

Bathsheba takes a deep, heavy breath and closes her eyes.

"I'm pregnant."

There is quiet. She's known for two weeks, but it's the first time she's actually admitted it aloud, let herself think about it. It did not feel real or true, just like the fact that her Tamar was gone. She felt disconnected from reality, from her very body. Morning sickness was not explained away, but cut off. It came and went and so did she, her mind disappearing into the clouds. It feels as though she is a husk of a person, going through the motions because that is what expected of her. All joy and happiness has been sucked out and replaced with a neediness to feel what can never be felt again, to speak with a shattered voice.

"Are you happy?" David asks, his hands frozen on her skin. He's rigid, tightly wound.

Bathsheba closes her eyes.

"I just wish…" In Bathsheba's dreams, Tamar holds the hand of a younger child while playing in the rose garden. "...It was not my wish for another child. It was Tamar's."

David does not tremble, she can feel his heart pounding against her ear. She's this close to him, and yet, she's never felt farther away.

"Will you look it in the eye?"

"How could I not?" She scoffs, pulling away and staring at him. His eyes do not scorch. They are lukewarm and comforting, and she doesn't know when they got to be that way. Bathsheba is sad she missed seeing it happen. "I need to know it's eye color."

David summons a ghost of a smile. She is not the only one who has become a husk. But in truth, David has probably been a husk before they met. It's because she brought forth Tamar that he was able to cure himself for a moment and return to the land of the happy slaves. Now that she's gone, he's returned to being a doll with a hopeless heart. But the way he holds her tight, grasps her with intent and purpose...

Maybe it's just by strings, but he's still tethered to reality.

"Be sure to tell me."

Bathsheba's lips form a frown. She presses his hand to her stomach.

In front of them, Tamar smiles. On the walls, the gray eyes stare.

In Bathsheba's stomach, a baby grows.

Annnnnnnd it's done! Yay. Took long enough XD

I've been gone for so long that ALL my docs on my doc manager deleted! Ahhhh...

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! I'm unsure of what to elaborate on...If you have questions, please ask! Please review! I'm afraid I've lost all my reading base because of my absence haha. If I start updating more frequently maybe you'll all come back XD Hope everyone's having a great week!

Adios~