I’ve seen and heard that carrying a child is no picnic.  Far from it, in fact.  It’s the reason, or at least one of the reasons why I have vowed to never put myself through it.  That, and let’s face it, I am no mother material.

It isn’t like Ana to be so clingy and needy, but she has requested that I be nearby while she is unwell, and so I will be.  I’m not sure if Mister Stormblood has taken so kindly to my constant presence, but I will not go unless and until my sister orders me to.

She sleeps.  She sleeps unnatural lengths of time, and often, and when she is awake she looks as if she hasn’t had a wink.  I remember only once before she looked this way, and she very nearly died.  The mental toll on her in that case was more prevalent than anything physical, but this … this is different.

This is worse.

It is nothing but a parasite, a leech, in the truest sense.  Every day, every week that goes by, it drains her very life right before our eyes.  I fear … I fear that neither she nor the parasite that she carries will make it, but I keep that to myself.  I do not speak of such things with her husband.  I can already see the worry in his own eyes.  I might not like the man, but there is little sense in making an already fragile situation worse.

What else can I, can we all do, but endure, until we must not?


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