05-10-2008, 03:55 AM
85. Sick
Leo looked warily at the woman's head resting in his lap. Weeks earlier it had been full of joy, transformed by the bright happiness of baring new life. But now...
The bright sapphires of her eyes were sunken now, covered by dark, heavy lids. Lines creased her face, as even now her brows her knit into a contorted bundle of pain and disappointment. He absently brushed one of the thin white hairs from her face. They had always been a vibrant white, but now the color seemed to age her, making her appear an ancient sufferer.
It had been in their fears, cluttered at the far reaches of their mind. "What if the child doesn't make it?" "What is our people cannot produce together?" "What happens to the crown then?" "And..."
"What happens to us now?"Leo whispered as he stared down at his foreign wife and all the lightness she was made of, skin, hair eyes. What a contrast it was to himself with the heavy tan of his people and their dark hair and eyes. Could such differences really mix? Was it simply a lost cause?
Leo was sick to death of trying. He was sick of dealing with this misery and watching his wife struggle in her real sickness over this loss that was the both of theirs. He was sick to of the sorrow in her eyes when they caught the light of the sunset and he saw for a moment the same look that always was in her eyes when she saw Astin, the man she had loved.
He sighed heavily. Why did everything have to be so wrong from the very beginning?
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