Deep within the caverns of Barathrum, past the well-tended gardens of the nobility, and the tragic streets of the poor, lay a house. House is not exactly the best word - nor is castle or keep. Perhaps a fortified mansion would be a better term. Either way, it lay deep in its own precious cave, just off of another vast cavern where one could not see their neighbors if they tried.

  Normally on a day such as this, silence would reign over the Fortified Mansion and its grounds. The sprawling grounds, lit by floating wisps, would have been lovely if they weren’t dead. Every plant had curled in on itself and lay as dry, broken husks on the ground. A few statues attempted to break up the depressing display, but alas, not even the greatest sculpture of all time could make this garden look lively.

  The ear-splitting screams coming from inside the Fortified Mansion added the frosting on the rather bleak cake.

  It was upstairs, to the left, down a dreary hallway in need of a good dusting, to the right and up a smaller flight of stairs that the screams originated from. Outside the heavy door, wringing his long digits and pacing back and forth, stooped a wiry man. He looked as if someone had taken a standard man and pulled his limps until they were positively long and skeletal. His gaunt face stretched with each scream into a grimace, panic aging him beyond his years.

  The door creaked as it swung inward, a stout woman bustling out carrying linens. He reached for her, blocking her path as his strange eyes searched her face.

  “Any news? Is it done?” The words rasped out of him, struggling as if he had not spoken for years. Why, one would have expected dust to pop out when he cleared his throat.

  “Not yet, Lord Famine.” Her eyes cast downwards, shoulders trembling as she attempted not to meet his gaze. It was bad luck, after all. “But they say, the harder the birth, the more glorious the child.”

  Her words were meant to be a comfort, but he shook his head at her. “Or the more likely the mother will die.”

  At last he stepped aside, letting her hurry past him as if one of the Queen’s hounds nipped at her heels. Clasping his hands, he turned to the door, his turquoise and fuchsia eyes glowing softly in the dark hall.

  “Kumori.”

  The eyes closed, but he did not turn.

  “You dare darken my door, on today of all days?”

  “I come as a friend.” Every step should have come down heavily, echoing throughout the hall. Yet not even the cloak, drawn over the man’s horned head, made a sound as it swished around him, stirring up no dust.

  “A friend like you would stay away.” Kumori snapped, looking toward the intruder as he pulled the hood down. His short black hair gleamed unnaturally in the darkness, silver eyes gazing at Kumori with undisguised sorrow.

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  “Not at all.” His words fell from lips that did not move, and Kumori waved a hand rudely in his face.

  “Begone, Death,” Once more his eyes locked onto the door, “I have no need of you.”

  His friend spoke not a word, merely stood next to him as he, too, watched the door. Time stretched before them as eons, yet it surely had only been moments when the woman returned and slipped past them.

  Then the shrill, thin wail of a baby pierced the air. Kumori had not realized he had been holding his breath until it came out of him in a rush. Ignoring his guest, he ripped the door open and rushed into the room. Behind him, the door swung shut, but not before the other man slipped in.

  The room smelled of blood, sweat and a foul odor that would make any sane person’s skin crawl. Candles barely pierced the darkness that crowded in from all sides, casting harsh shadows where secrets grew. She lay in this room at the heart of the candles, the only point of light that could break up the dreariness.

  “Oh, my love, my dear.” Kumori rushed to her side, his pale hand seeking her flushed one. She looked at him, green eyes sparkling while her lips, still lovely despite being chapped, pulled into a smile that could brighten any day.

  “My love…” She whispered as he shushed her softly, curling over her as if to shield her from everything.

  “You did well…” He murmured, the two of them staring deep into each other’s eyes. Around them the room bustled as the midwife ordered her maids around. Her voice took on a harsh edge that drew Kumori’s gaze.

  “Now, see here! I don’t care who you are, you ain’t seeing the miss before her parents. Now begone!” The woman, a fiery red-head with a temper fouler than a rotten egg, wagged her finger right in Death’s face.

  “Ah, stop it, Mildred.” The man scoffed at her, attempting to step around her. He did not make it far before the iron grasp of Kumori’s hand shackled itself to his wrist.

  “There is no place for you here.” Ice dripped from his words as he gazed at the other man with unveiled anger.

  “Kumori, do not start this. I must see the girl.” Grey eyes shimmered silver, and after a moment, Kumori released him. He waved to the maid clutching the whining bundle, and she hesitated before bringing her over.

  “She is so light…” Kumori murmured, taking her into his arms. Pink tufts of hair stuck out all over her head, and her large eyes were squeezed shut as she let out pitiful mewling sounds. “Ah…She hungers…”

  He pressed a finger to her little mouth, marveling as she opened wide and clamped down. Her eyes opened, gazing at them not with the eyes for a freshly born babe, but the same striking eyes her father bore. Kumori felt his breath hitch, the room threatening to reel as his gaze met hers. But a grounding breath stayed his urge to sway, and he tore his gaze away to look at his friend.

  The other man clasped his arm just once, glancing toward the bed where Kumori’s wife waited. Kumori said not a word and instead carried the child to her.

  “What shall we call her?” He murmured, passing their child to her mother.

  For a moment she looked at the babe as if memorizing every inch of her face. Her fingers hesitated, trembling before touching the soft, velvet cheek. The baby made a small mew sound, and Kumori watched his wife's face melt into a smile of pure love.

  “Mao…We shall call her Mao.”