"Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire."

- Theodore Roethke

The silent night was broken by a bloodcurdling scream. The small blackbirds that had been perched asleep in the trees startled and, in a scurry, flew away into the dark sky. A deep orange glow lit up the windows along the stone prison walls, and loud, hurried footsteps echoed across the cobblestone corridors. Their steps were urgent. Soon, frantic shouting joined the loud cries, getting louder and louder, as the old doctor came bursting around the corner, tucking his long shirt into his pants. His leather bag clanked heavily against his thigh as the prison guards stepped aside to let the old man through.

Lying on the filthy floor was a middle-aged woman. Her hands clutched at her bulging stomach, dark liquid oozing around her in a large puddle. The guards stood around her, stepping uneasily from foot to foot as the old doctor opened up his leather bag. It wasn't often the prison doctor delivered babies in the cells. He lifted his grey head and began barking orders at the guards to bring water and clean clothes so that he could get to work. His jaw tightened as his deft hands concentrated on delivering the child, eyes steadfast on the protruding bloody head. He ignored the screams of the pained mother. He didn't care for her pain. He wasn't here for her. Her tormented screams rattled the rusty bars on the window and inside the guards' steel helmets.

Eventually, the woman passed out, lying in a lake of her blood. With one last tug, the old doctor had removed the child and handed the squirming blue baby to one of the nervous guards.

"Take it to my office now." The old doctor stood up on shaky legs and surveyed the mess before him.

The woman lay on her back on the floor. Her hair was mangled with sweat and blood. The dress she wore was soaked from the blood on the floor, the fabric sticking to her stomach like a red blanket strewn across her lap. With one last glance at her, the old doctor left the guards to clean up the mess. He needed to check on the baby.

By the time the woman awoke the following morning, her body felt as if it was ripped apart. Flashbacks from last night flooded her mind. Ignoring the pain, she jumped off the hard prison bed and pounded her fists against the solid metal door. The young guard outside the door clenched his teeth, annoyed that he had to be the one to tell her that she had lost the child and deal with her sorrow.

Instead of her cries, a deathly silence filled the room. The kind of silence that spoke a thousand words. The kind of silence that wrapped itself around the neck. The kind of silence that squeezed and squeezed until there was nothing left to squeeze. She felt no grief at the guard's words, only a fit of burning anger. She was angry at the prison, angry at the kingdom and herself for ending up here in the first place.

Hours later, as the day became night, she sat unmoving in her cell with her back against the cold wall, eyes closed. Her fingers lay resting in her lap. The faint tremor coursing through them was the only indication that she was still alive. She sat still, allowing her mind to fill up with venomous thoughts of vengeance and hatred towards the people who tore her family away from her. The only sound in the late evening was the faint echoes of the guards doing their rounds. Earlier, she had heard when the guard stationed behind the door left. She was alone.

Finally, her troubled thoughts were interrupted by the light tapping on her door, and she could make out the clanking of a key inside the lock. A dark, hooded figure opened the door and peered around the room. A huge grin made its way onto her face as the figure revealed their face.

The next morning had passed in a blur as the prison guards spent hours searching the grounds, posters were put up, soldiers were ordered to search houses, and yet nothing showed up. She had simply disappeared. Up in his room late at night, the old doctor stood by the window overlooking the sleeping kingdom, lost in thought, until the stirring of the baby roused him. With a heavy heart, he glanced at the sleeping babe. Her ruddy cheeks and teary eyes had made his heart clench painfully. Risking his life, he had refused to stab the child with the small steel blade in his bag, directly disobeying the King's orders. Instead, he had hidden her in his room to buy him some time. However, it wasn't long before the old doctor was summoned to the throne room, where a new doctor was stationed at the prison the next day.

The King had decided that the child would be allowed to live and was to remain inside the prison with strict orders that she was not allowed to leave. His direct orders.

What the King didn't know was that by keeping her alive, he had set a series of events into motion that would come to shake the very ground he stood upon.