Sanria stepped back to Gilean's side, looking at Orn and Mirin and the new children held in their arms. She took Gilean's hand in her own and felt nothing by way of acknowledgement. She maintained her smile until they got home, and after obligatory congratulations to the brand new grandfather, the conversation drifted to the child held within Sanria.
Gilean was ready to give up his faith, his station at the temple, to help her get rid of Velentham's child. He'd give up everything he'd worked for, his joy in helping others, to be at her side. Rather than make Sanria feel loved, it made her feel guilt. Though she'd been trying not to, Sanria had been spiraling down. More times than she careed to admit, she stood behind the cottage, glaring at the grave of her rapist, dark madness crowding in at the edges of her vision. And of equal concern was her nearly burning desire to dig him up and stab him over and over and...
No. She waited until Gilean slept and went to the small kitchen. She pulled out her herbs and whispered druidic spells over them, increasing the potency of the chemicals in their dried leaves. Pennyroyal was toxic enough, she knew, but the spell that would keep her from dying was stronger. She flooded herself with the mixture, a dose large enough to kill a horse, and staggered outside to sit on the barren hill of Velenham's grave.
She would not let Gilean destroy his living for her or the abomination she carried with her. She'd rid herself of the child, she'd drop it right on the grave. She'd go near death again, dragging Kaliadra with her, she knew - but they'd not cross the threshold just yet. They'd be able to cheat it while the thing in her would go the way of its father.
Kaliadra came storming out the cottage door as the sweat began to form on Sanria's brow. Sanria's vision was starting to swim, the pains of her stomach were beginning to grow, and she vomited onto the grave.
"What in the name of the Nine Hells did you do, Sanria?!"
"Had to... we'll be okay..."
"You idiot," the elf hissed. "I could have helped you!"
"No. You wouldn't."
The elf went into silence as she dropped to her knees, clutching her own stomach as though the abortion was her own as well. Sanria stared back at the grave and gave another wretch. She could feel everything as it happened. The blood flowed, the vomit rolled, and Sanria finally pitched forward. Gilean would find her soon, free from any wrong, and could do what duty he was born to do: healing.
