(T.W: blood)
11 June 1503, Italy
Surrounded by miles and miles of vegetation, you could see a small village; isolated and quiet.
But something that night disturbed the quiet of its inhabitants.
A small hut: made of mud and straw, it was isolated from the others. And from it there were heard shouts. The cries of a woman. She had a swollen womb. She appeared to be in her twenties, not very beautiful, her brown hair was a little dirty, eyes of a dark brown color, she had a slim figure, dressed in a white dress of raw cotton, it was long up to the calves, if it had not been raised and tied to the hips.
Her face was wet with tears and sweat. Now exhausted; she stood on her feet, helped by a stick, behind her; knelt on the dirty floor: blood, mouse feces and urine. There was an old woman, she was holding a cloth stained with blood and mud. and with her trembling hands, she kept it open between the woman's legs.
"One last push!" the old woman incited.
"uff. .I-i.....Ughh.. I can't.....i-i can't.... agata.. AHH.. please... help me!!" the woman shouted, begging the old woman to stop her pain.
"I CAN SEE THE HEAD! , COME ON, ONE LAST PUSH!" Agata shouted, placing the cloth even closer to the woman's crotch. And with a final push, the newborn slipped and fell on the rag.
(A/n: thought)
The woman gave a sigh of relief and with her legs still shaking, she dropped to the ground. Soon after, not hearing the infant's cry, she turned to Agata, pale in her face. The latter was holding the infant upside down and giving him a slight pat on the bottom, she said: "Relax, Lucrezia, it's normal; you just have to give him a light pat on the bottom", immediately after the cry of the newborn baby was heard.
Lucretia approached Agata; with a very slow pace, still exhausted from childbirth. And she looked at the little creature in the old woman's arms. Almost thoughtful."Is it a boy?" she asked hopefully. " No, it's a girl, do you want to hold her?" Agata said. Embittered, Lucrezia nodded. She took the child and scrutinized her thoroughly. From head to toe: Rosy eyes, . .strange... Perhaps with time they will darken. Very white skin...like snow. Her hair had not yet grown... it will grow. She's so small, Lucrezia smiled, So fragile... My Precious Ofelia...