The Peculiar Morass

Two decades ago

A bawl of anguish and misery from a lady on the verge of giving birth reverberated through the Palace's top chevalier's classical residence. The space was crammed with all kinds of goods: plants, beverages, clothing, dust-coated jewelry, anything you could find on Palace, the room had it all. Nothing, however, appears to be enough to calm the strained atmosphere. The moon was nearly full and it was nearing midday. The night was shining brighter than normal, and the sky was filled with uncountable numbers of shining dusts, making the situation look quite amazing. Despite the beautiful velocity, sweat blood topples, not just for the giving birth lady, but for everyone who appeared anxious and bothered by the strain. After three hours of waiting and a few minutes before midday, the baby is still not out.

"Come on, breathe. Just keep breathing, Sonya." For the nth time, the midwife commanded softly to soothe the weak lady. "Just breathe, everyone is here. You are not alone, just breathe properly."

"My love, it's okay. Everything will be all right. You're strong, you're the strongest woman in my life, you can do this." The Chevalier soothed as well even if he's about to collapse himself due to extreme exaggerated pressure.

Everyone was worried since the lady had lost her strength and appeared to be hopeless. The father, who was once regarded as the Palace's bravest chevalier, stands weakly by his wife, barely breathing due to anxiety. Who'd have guessed that a chevalier who refuses to surrender in battle is on the verge of losing his mind? Who wouldn't feel weak if he heard his wife sob in agony? When his wife's and baby's lives are on the line, who could keep their cool? It's been a long time, hours, and the baby is still within. The midwife contributed everything she had, and the unborn child's grandmother, a high-ranking echelon, is constantly praying to the ethereal.

Another agonizing bawl filled the house, and the grandmother couldn't bear it any longer. On bended knees, she dashed to the balcony and cried out to the Almighty for assistance. She began to yell aloud. She was pleading because she was beginning to feel desperate. The old echelon, on the other hand, does not want to lose her daughter or the kid in her belly.

And in a flash, the frail lady gave everything she had by screaming as if it were her last. She squealed, yelled, and pushed herself to her limits in order to save her child by letting it out of her. And the woman's head sagged, the father collapsed to the floor, the grandma stood still while weeping and pleading for assistance, and the midwife couldn't grin. At last, the wondrous child was out, her porcelain with pink tint skin tells that she was born a noble. It was and is a magnificent sight, but there's something wrong.

The infant has been born, but the little girl has not yet begun to cry.

"Give justice for your mother's suffering, for everyone's efforts. Live, child, live."

The midwife smacked the infant numerous times in an attempt to wake it up or at the very least make it cry, but there was no response. The mother began to cry uncontrollably, and the father stood to comfort his wife.

"No! My child!"

"Live child, live!" said the midwife, as she delivered one last painful and loud whack to the newborn's buttocks, prompting the infant to howl loudly. Its little cries echoed down the corridors and resonated in everyone's ears like the most beautiful music and ringtone they'd ever heard.

"She responded to a maximum pain," the Midwife muttered.

***

Throughout the day, the weather was nice, providing little hint of the impending calamity that loomed behind the early evening light. The shuttered gates, serene wings, and stately halls of the palace were all relaxing to consider. From daybreak to forenoon, the sentinels on guard, the top echelons probably doing their own thing, and the Monarchs chatting with each other were now bursting with a serene night descending in droves into the Palace in quest of joy and merriment.

"Happy christening! Congratulations on your firstborn, Chevalier Ferrero!" exclaimed an aristocrat, "Took you long enough, eh?"

"As long as the heavens have blessed me with a child, I'm pleased and content," the Chevalier declared, "and the minute I saw my darling, I completely forgot the time I've waited!"

"Congratulations, Man! The heavens truly care about you! Your child is quite pretty; I'm sorry to tell, but she got the looks from her mother," the Elites laughed.

"Well, she'll get bravery and courage from me," the chevalier chuckled.

The conversation went on until the sun set. Despite the fact that dusk had not yet fallen over the Palace, a smattering of lanterns strewn about the grounds were now aglow, lending a pleasant warmth to the evening atmosphere. Soft music blended in with the nobles' debate and laughter, and the smells of sweet pastries and fresh flowers lingered in the air for a long time. Rich individuals sat in groups of twos and threes around them, some drinking wine in pairs and others relaxing alone.

The event came to a close, the visitors returned to their houses, and the Chevalier thanked the Monarchs profusely for honoring his new born.

"It was nothing compared to the devotion and loyalty you show us; your child, Chevalier, deserves a celebration." replied the Monarchs to the humble chevalier.

The spring of Luciano Ferrero's firstborn was filled with uncomplicated tranquility and happiness. Everyone knew the baby was different from the rest of the town - her greenish blue eyes and tan brown hair were exceptional, if not unique - but it was never talked about openly. People were undoubtedly scared of her peculiarities because of age-old folklore superstitions about supernatural creatures with otherworldly appearances, and they were predisposed to avoid anything that might be feared as such.

"The child is too gorgeous; the family will be destroyed!"

"If a child appears unusual and one-of-a-kind, it's a sign of bad luck! The youngster will one day cause mayhem in the household!"

People's words are simply shrugged by Luciano and his wife. They're probably envious of the child's attractiveness. The delicate appears to be quite stunning.

Luciano and his wife sat beneath the shade of a tall wisteria tree, holding the child they had been expecting, as twilight fell. After many years of prayer, the gift of their lives has finally arrived. With the approach of spring, flower buds bloomed above them, filling the air with their honeyed perfume and beguiling his senses, a gift from the Monarchs to the newborn. In the tranquillity of their little garden, they could genuinely be at ease and immerse themselves in the child they so adored. None of the world's beauty could ever compare to the little and exquisite little girl who regularly graced them with her wit.