𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙....
In a world of bloody war and misgivings that lead to treason, there is only one thing Catherine Percy can be sure of and that is danger.
Her life had not always been thus, f...
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~My Baby~
When the sun dipped beneath the horizon, all had been well with nothing but a gentle summer's breeze to stir the flowers in the meadows surrounding the castle.
The Ladies of Catherine's confinement chamber sat cordially before the small fire and Roland happily slumbered at his mistresses' feet, his shaggy grey coat turned ashen in the light of the flames. In her solemn voice, the Duchess of York had read aloud from her Bible, the gilt lettering upon the leather shimmering and much more interesting to her young charge than the story of duty and fertility she told.
Catherine had never been more terrified than when her waters broke on the evening of the nineteenth of September. She would always remember it, the sudden surge of pain deep within her belly followed by a flow of warm water between her legs, trickling down her skin and soaking the skirt of her gown.
She'd thrown down her embroidery with a shout, staring at the sodden patch of carpet beneath her feet in horror while her Mother in law moved to action. Quickly stripped of her gown and kirtle, the young Duchess was carried to her bed a sheen of sweat blossoming onto her skin through pure fear that set her heart pounding into her ribs as painfully as a fist into flesh.
Trapped in a dazed world of unimaginable pain, Catherine had been able to do naught but cry out, the first of her blood curdling screams enough to melt a heart of stone.
Her body was not made for this, she was sure, the searing torture that sought to tear her limb from limb, her baby from her womb. Her hands clutched at her shift, at the swell of her belly, turning away from the fingers that prodded and poked her; the cold cloths they tried to place on her skin.
"Mother!" She'd screamed and Cecily was instantly by her side, pressing soft kisses to her forehead while she cried and fear consumed her. The seed of terror had been sown long before within her but now it grew, icy roots of horror twisting their way through her veins, warping her mind. She did not hear the voices that prayed for her or the fists of her husband that banged against the chamber door as he demanded to be let in, tormented by her cries.
All she knew was pain and as dusk turned to night, Catherine was sure she would never see the light of day again.
꧁꧂
20th of September 1468....
Catherine tried in vain to breathe as Cecily held her steady from behind, mopping at her brow with a cold cloth while she whispered encouragements into her ear.
"That's it, my dear, just push, just push"
A blood curdling scream erupted from her throat, and the young girl screwed her eyes shut, nails digging into the sheets beside her while she tried to push her babe from between her parted legs. Blood spattered the sheets and her hair lay tangled around her flushed, tear-stained face, lips picked clean of skin by her teeth when she bit fiercely into them.
