 | "The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here-- the inferno where we live every day, that we create by being together." - Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities
Chapters
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The hearth crackled quietly in the humble hut, two figures sitting illuminated by the orange glow of its flames. They rocked gently in creaking wooden chairs, their gazes fixed on the embers, silently musing.
"You understand, Goody Neasa, what this will bring for you?" one of them said, breaking the silence. She was an elderly woman with greying hair, though sprinkles of carrot-orange still clung to the strands. Her voice was rough, thick with a Tepestani accent.
"This is a child without a father, born outside of marriage - and the father is unknown. That is three omens of illness, bound to stir ire and gossip."
The other woman, much younger - and a radiant beauty even by Tepestani standards - sat quiet and still, like a glade untouched by wind.
"Mother..." she said softly. Even for a Tepestani, her voice lacked any harshness; it was lithe, like water over stone. "You don’t need to explain how this came to be. But what other choice do I have for my own mistake?"
"There is a tonic, quite easy to brew. It will end your cycle before it even fully begins." The older woman turned to look at Neasa now, frowning heavily at her daughter’s choice in the matter of the pregnancy.
"My sweet daughter, full of song... this is a bastard - one without a father. I must repeat it again, for you are not seeing clearly what is to come. Not to mention, the Inquisition believes bastards are born of wicked people. You are risking a life of pain for this simple child..."
Neasa’s lips thinned at the words. She knew well how dark Tepest had become since the Grand Conjunction. The Inquisition’s embering flame now blazed high, their actions growing more unhinged by the season. Anyone who stood out - whether socially or physically - was at risk of being tried for ill-acts. Tepest was becoming unsafe with every passing season, and a bastard child would surely draw suspicion.
"I trust there is a reason this child was given to me," she said softly, placing a hand over her stomach. No bump showed yet, but she knew well her cycle had already begun.
The older woman let out a long sigh, massaging her temple with quiet disappointment.
"I will not force this decision upon you, Neasa… though I will keep encouraging it. Whatever may come, I will support you as my daughter, and love you, as the kind gods surely intended. But know this - the child will likely face hardship. Not here… but from the community. You understand this?"
"Beicht," Neasa replied softly, "what comes of it will be as so. But this will be my daughter - one I will raise to love, to cherish…" Her hand settled gently on her chest, a bright smile rising to her lips.
"Mmm." Her mother hummed. "I don’t know if we’ll be able to find you a match, and your minstrel training may have to be set aside…" She exhaled heavily, shaking her head before reaching out to take her daughter's hand into her own - holding it with a love that needed no words.
"What comes, does come. I am certain it will be fine." The younger Tepestani smiled again, radiant with the quiet hope that her daughter would find light in this world - even without a father’s name, and without Neasa herself remembering the man she’d lain with. A truth she had not fully shared with her mother, knowing how tangled it would make things.
"You’ll need a name for her..." her mother murmured, the words soft as snowfall. "Any thoughts yet?"
Neasa paused, her thoughts drifting to her ancestors - brave, bold, and kind. "There’s a voice in me that says it will be a girl… and if so?"
She smiled.
"She will be named… Brooke.."
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