Myriad

“Be careful….” Machayla grasped one of Myriad’s hands with her weak and quivering ones and pleaded with her eyes. She lay before him, her clothes damp from her fever, her hair plastered to her head. She sighed deeply, and the lump of her belly rose and fell.

Myriad placed a hand on the home of his unborn child. He shut his eyes, tears running down his face.

“Be careful…,” she pleaded again.

He held her face in his hands, looking at the woman who had changed his life. She was everything to him, and he would do everything to save her.

Myriad slowly stood, and Machayla gasped in pain. He bent down and kissed her on the forehead. Soon, my love, he thought. Soon you’ll be alright. He wouldn’t rest until he’d tried everything.

He left the room and signaled for Edward to go to her, and his young servant hurried to her side. Myriad walked out of their home, wondering if he would return with the cure, if he would come back and save them all.

He had to do something.

After all, Machayla was at stake. He didn’t want to become who he was before she was with him. Before he’d changed for her.

Changed for her and their unborn child.

He had to save them.

He had to save himself.