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On the 12th hour of the first day of October, There was a lot of confusion in the Sainte-Bernadette Hospital maternity ward. Women from across the city had arrived — frightened, breathless — their stomachs impossibly swollen despite claiming they hadn't been pregnant that morning.
Thirty-one year old, Dr. Mariah Hartridge, one of France's brightest young physicians, raced from bed to bed, barking orders in crisp, clipped French. She had to assist them even though she didn't understand it. She had a responsibility. Then she suddenly passed out. Her body began to grow with sudden, sharp pain. Nurses yelled her name as hands dragged her onto a bed. In a daze of confusion and pain, she became aware that she was also giving birth.
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A few pushes later, a baby girl came out of her stomach. Mariah looked down at the newborn girl in her arms hours later, exhausted and trembling. The baby was flawless, with tiny fists clenched tightly and bright, oddly aware eyes.
When Mariah's husband, Julien, rushed through the hospital doors, tears were streaming down her face. He hurried to her side and exhaled, "Mon amour."
When he touched the baby's silky hair, his hands shook. "Isn't she ours?"
Mariah gave a nod. "Lyra," she muttered. "We'll call her Lyra."
A shadow passed across the room before they had a chance to fully comprehend their new reality. At the doorway stood a tall, stern-looking man wearing a bowler hat and a black suit. He moved forward, his cane clicking against the tile.
"Extraordinary!" He walked towards the baby, and looked at it, almost as if he was examining it.
"Dr. Hartridge," he said in clipped English. "I am Sir Reginald Hargreeves. Congratulations on your... unique child. How much do you want for it?" He looked at Mariah, who looked at him in utter disbelief and disgust. Why the hell would someone want to give away such a precious gift?
Mariah clutched Lyra closer, instantly on edge. "What do you want?" Julien asked, voice sharp.
Reginald offered a thin, cold smile. "I would like to purchase your daughter. Name your price."
"Nothing." She told him, but that only made him grin. "So you'll give it to me for free?"
"No," She replied angrily, his grin turned into a frown. "I'm not giving you my daughter."
Reginald looked irritated, he didn't think someone would decline his offer, all of the mothers he met had immediately given up their children for money, but only this one declined his offer.
"I'm sure you didn't hear me correctly," He cleared his throat, "She is special. She has a destiny. One far greater than you could ever offer her. I will give you any amount you wish for, if you give me that baby."
"And I'm sure you're not hearing me correctly," Mariah said to him, firmer. Julien stood beside her, a protective hand on her shoulder.
"I'm not giving you my baby, now get out." She pointed towards the door. The tension in the room was suffocating. For a moment, it seemed Hargreeves might argue further — but instead, he straightened his coat with a huff.
"So be it," he said coldly, stepping back toward the door. But as he paused on the threshold, he looked over his shoulder — and his voice turned low and almost cruel:
"You'll regret this."
And then he was gone, leaving behind only the cold echo of his threat... and the soft, steady breathing of baby Lyra, cradled against her mother's chest.
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