• Scotland, January 5th 1840

    The king entered the room, his cape flowing behind him as he made his way to the bed. Inside it was his wife, her plump stomach lifting up the quilt. Her breaths were shallow, coming out in short gasps.

    "My lord, the wound has caused her to go into labor. She wont make it through. Save her, or the barren?" A nurse said to him, bowing at the waist. The king did not answer, but instead walked to the bedside. His wife`s eyes opened some, revealing her pale blue orbs.

    "My love, save the child or save you?" The king asked, tenderly taking the queen`s small hand into his much larger one.

    "The child, Demitri, the child." The queen gasped out. The king squeezed his eyes shut, holding back and onslaught of tears. But he would not fight her decision. He would care for their child and watch as it grew up. He would tell their child of the wonderful things that its mother did. Forever would the memory of their child`s mother be know to it.

    The king held onto his wife`s hand, kneeling at her side as she gave birth and lost her essence. Blood and sweat stained the white silk sheets. When the baby came from the womb, its wailing filled the still air.

    "A baby girl." The midwife told him. He wiped a tear from his wife`s eyes, then wiped his own. The midwife handed the baby to the queen, gently placing her into the mother`s weak arms.

    "Her name shall be Pheonix." The queen said, gently running the backs of her fingers against the baby`s chubby cheeks. Pale green eyes stared at her mother, the baby shushing and looking around her new home in wonder.

    The baby gurgled, and her mother laughed a little. Then, closing her eyes, the queen gave her last breath and died, her new born in her arms.