Thunder roared across the heavens, its primal intensity reverberating through the earth, while jagged streaks of lightning tore through the storm-darkened skies. The tempest raged on, its fury battering against the mansion's marble walls, a relentless assault on the tranquil haven. The stained glass windows shuddered violently in their frames, as though the storm itself sought to breach the sanctuary and claim dominion over the silence within.
In a brightly lit bedchamber, a woman lay sprawled on an ornate bed, her frame trembling with effort, glistening with sweat under the bright lights of the mosaic lanterns. Pain came in relentless waves, wracking her body and forcing raw, guttural screams from her lips.
A circle of maids surrounded her, their hands trembling as they hurriedly attended to her needs, clutching steaming bowls of water and soft, damp towels. Their nervous glances darted between one another as they tried to soothe her, though the magnitude of her suffering left them unsure.
Even in her anguish, the woman was a vision of ethereal beauty. Her honey-toned skin shimmered with a luminous glow. Her green eyes, like spring water kissed by sunlight, shone with an intensity that belied her pain, reflecting both her strength and vulnerability in that moment.
"Push, my lady! The child is nearly here!" the midwife urged, her voice trembling with urgency.
The woman's strong hands clutched the silk sheets beneath her, her knuckles whitening as she twisted the fabric. Tears streaked her flushed cheeks, her jaw clenched tight, yet she endured, summoning strength from somewhere deep within. With a final, primal scream, she pushed with all her might.
And then-silence.
The storm seemed to falter, the wind pausing mid-howl as the tension in the room grew unbearable. The maids froze, their breaths held in unison.
A piercing cry shattered the stillness. A newborn's wail rose raw and fierce, cutting through the room like a blade. Relief washed over the gathered women like a tide.
The midwife worked quickly, cleaning the tiny body as the cries grew steadier, filling the room with a fragile but undeniable vitality. The maids exchanged hesitant glances, the weight of relief beginning to lift their shoulders.
The mother collapsed back onto the pillows, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. Her green eyes fluttered open as she reached weakly for her child.
The midwife stepped forward with a tentative smile. But then-a gasp from one of the maids.
"Demon!" the maid shrieked, stumbling back in terror. "It's a demon's child!"
The mother's exhausted gaze sharpened instantly, her eyes flashing like emerald fire. "What did you say?" she demanded, her voice low but seething with power.
The maid shrank back, trembling. "My lady, the child-its hair, its eyes-it's not... human!"
"Enough!" the mother roared, sitting upright despite her exhaustion. Her hands trembled as she held them out. "Bring me my child this instant!"
The head maid, standing firm in her duty, took the infant from the midwife's hands and carried her to the mother. The woman's trembling hands reached out, cradling the infant to her heaving chest.
Her breath caught as she gazed upon her newborn. The child was unlike any she had seen-strikingly beautiful, with snow-white hair that framed her tiny face like moonlight. Her eyes were luminous blue, deep and endless, shimmering as if they held the secrets of the heavens.
"She is... magnificent," the mother whispered, softening her voice. "A miracle."
The room fell silent, except for the soft drumming of the storm outside. The maids exchanged fearful glances.
"Who dares call my daughter a demon?" the mother hissed, her green eyes sharp as daggers as she glared at the maid. "She is a gift from the heavens, and I will not tolerate such blasphemy."
The offending maid fell to her knees, her forehead pressed to the rug. "Forgive me, my lady! I spoke out of fear. Please, show mercy!"
The mother's gaze did not waver. The child stirred in her arms, letting out a soft whimper, and the woman instinctively held her closer.
Beyond the heavy cedar doors, the head of the household paced the polished marble floor, his footsteps a steady counterpoint to the growl of thunder. His shadow loomed large under the flickering light of mosaic lamps, the tension in his broad shoulders betraying his simmering frustration.
"My lord, please, have patience," the steward urged, his voice calm and gentle.
The lord shot him a withering glare. "Move," he growled, brushing past the older man and striding toward the room.
The door slammed open, and the maids scattered, bowing as the lord's imposing figure filled the threshold. His piercing gaze swept over the scene, his wife's protective posture immediately drawing his attention. She turned instinctively, shielding the infant from view.
The lord's lips curled into a thin, cold smile as he stepped forward. "Give me the child."
The mother stiffened, her grip on the child tightening. Her silence was an act of quiet defiance, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed as though she might refuse.
"Hand her to me," the lord commanded again, his voice low but edged with steel.
A tense silence fell over the room. Even the relentless drumming of rain seemed to fade, as if the storm itself held its breath.
Finally, with trembling hands, the mother relented, passing the infant to him. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched her husband cradle their daughter. The child, swaddled in silks as white as her pale hair and skin, seemed impossibly small against his powerful frame.
The lord's frown deepened as he studied the child's face, his brows knitting together. His jaw tightened when her eyes fluttered open-bright, unnatural blue eyes that seemed to shimmer like a clear mountain spring.
"My lord," the head maid ventured, stepping forward hesitantly. "Some infants are born with white hair and unusual eyes. It is rare, yes, but carries no ill omen."
The lord said nothing, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he continued to stare into the newborn's gaze, as if searching for something buried deep within. His grip on the child tightened.
He gazed at his wife, her beauty undiminished even in exhaustion. She lay still, her breaths shallow, her fragility painfully evident. With a sharp exhale, he turned away, the tempest in his eyes softening as he gently handed the child back to her mother.
"Rest well," he said quietly, his voice stripped of the anger that had burned through him moments before.
Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel, his dark cloak swirling behind him as he strode out of the room, leaving only the echo of his departure behind.
The mother sagged against the cushions, her breath shallow and uneven, clutching her daughter tightly to her chest as if shielding her from unseen threats. Relief flickered in her eyes, but it was overshadowed by a lingering fear that refused to fade.
She couldn't quite place why she felt this instinctive need to protect the child from her own father, yet the feeling gnawed at her, undeniable and insistent. The thought of it troubled her deeply, a silent dread creeping into her heart. Would this unspoken mistrust drive a wedge between them, creating a discord she might never be able to mend? The weight of the possibility pressed heavily on her, yet her grip on her daughter only tightened.
"My lady," the wet nurse whispered, stepping forward cautiously. "It is time for her feeding."
For a moment, the mother hesitated, as if reluctant to part with the child. Then, with a soft sigh, she carefully placed the infant in the nurse's arms, her hand lingering on the child's tiny form.
The storm outside showed no sign of stopping. Its relentless fury, a reflection of the unspoken fears brewing within.