Page 39 of Semper
The room was a flurry of activity. Several servitors and what I assumed were trained medical personnel surrounded the second woman, their faces tense with focus. Meanwhile, others clustered around Cassandra, their hands moving swiftly as they wiped her brow and monitored her vitals. The air was thick with tension, and every time the woman on the other bed let out a scream of pain, Cassandra followed suit, her own scream echoing in unison. It was disturbing—unnatural. Every scream that tore from one woman's throat seemed to rip through Cassandra’s body as well, as though they were linked in some perverse, shared suffering.
"It’s like they’re connected," I whispered, a chill running down my spine.
Keres nodded, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. "This is some fucked-up shit," she murmured, clearly unnerved by the eerie synchronicity between the two women.
I watched, helpless, as each contraction wracked the other woman's body, her back arching off the bed as she cried out. Almost immediately, Cassandra responded, her own body tensing in agony.
"What the hell is going on?" I whispered to Keres, my voice barely audible. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the bizarre and horrifying display in front of me. Every time the woman’s pain escalated, Cassandra mirrored it perfectly, as if they were tethered by an invisible thread.
Keres shook her head, her mouth drawn into a tight line. "I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s not right."
We stood there, frozen, trying to make sense of the madness. One of the personnel caught sight of us, her gaze snapping at me. “Electi—come!” she commanded; her voice sharp.
Keres and I exchanged a look, both of us clearly out of our depth. This was not my area of expertise. In fact, it was so far beyond anything I’d ever done that every instinct in me screamed to flee the room. My pulse quickened, panic creeping up my spine. Esther was too preoccupied with Cassandra to offer any guidance.
Keres, always quicker to act, grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the woman in labor, Pandora following close behind, holding my hand. "What do we do?" Keres asked as we approached, her voice low but steady.
The woman in charge glanced between us, already exasperated by our lack of action.
"Sponsa Diaboli," she addressed me directly. "Hold her hand."
My stomach twisted at the sight of the woman writhing on the bed, drenched in sweat, and sobbing in pain, but I stepped forward, reaching for her.
"And you—her leg," the woman instructed Keres, who blinked but nodded quickly, moving into position.
The woman’s gaze turned to Pandora. "Assist as you can."
Pandora, still blindfolded, stood hesitantly beside the bed, her hands reaching out to touch the woman’s arm gently, though she looked just as lost as I felt. I took the woman’s tremblinghand in mine, grounding my teeth when she immediately squeezed it with a strength that nearly made me yelp. She screamed again, and the sound echoed around the room, so raw and guttural it sent shivers down my spine.
Keres, now holding the woman’s leg, looked across the room at the servitors attending to Cassandra. "What the fuck..." she muttered; her eyes wide with disbelief as she watched Cassandra mimic the same movements—the same screams—without being anywhere near labor.
I focused back on the woman in front of me. She was shaking, her breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. I needed to distract her somehow—keep her from spiraling further into the pain.
“What’s your name?” I asked, my voice soft but steady, trying to pull her attention away from the agony coursing through her body.
She panted heavily, blinking up at me with wide, tear-filled eyes. "E-Emilia," she managed to choke out between deep breaths.
I nodded, gripping her hand tighter. "You're doing great, Emilia. Just keep breathing, okay?"
Her body tensed, and she let out another piercing scream. I winced but held steady, feeling utterly useless in the face of her suffering.
"She needs to push," one of the personnel directed us. The atmosphere in the room grew heavier as everyone braced for the next round.
“Push, Emilia,” I urged, doing my best to sound confident even though my heart was pounding in my ears.
Emilia gritted her teeth and bore down, her face contorting with the effort as she let out another guttural cry. Keres, still holding her leg alongside a servitor, grunted from the strain as the woman pushed with all her might.
This continued for what felt like an eternity—wave after wave of contractions, Emilia’s screams echoing in the small room.
My hand was numb from the constant pressure, and I could feel my own anxiety climbing with every moment that passed.
Finally, one of the personnel stepped in with a pair of surgical scissors, positioning herself between Emilia’s legs. There was an awful tearing sound that made me cringe—an episiotomy—and then, in what felt like one swift movement, a tiny, blood-slicked body slid out of Emilia, followed by a rush of fluid.
The room fell eerily silent.
The baby didn’t cry.
It didn’t even move.