Rifiuto: Non Miriena

A/N: So, this is the chapter that Zanie said I could upload. It's the only chapter she's allowed me to upload for this particular story. I don't know when or if she ever plans on updating it again (or having me update it again), but I do know that when I asked her the other day, she agreed that I could "upload one chapter to Mystic's Dream, and one chapter only, that the rest of it was not to be touched." To be honest, I'm amazed she remembered the title, it's been so long since she's looked at it, especially since Ev and I have been the ones posting the author's notes.

Anyway, this is the very, very, very long-awaited next chapter of The Mystic's Dream. I'm so sorry it's been such a long, long wait for all of you, and I hope you'll forgive us. It's not that we haven't wanted to up date it (at least, Ev and I), but this is Zanie's account, and therefore, it's ultimately Zanie's decision as to whether a story- especially this one- receives an update or not. Unless they're in her 'Completed' or 'Ready to be Updated' folders. This one was updated, but was buried so deep, we almost didn't find it. Either Ev or I will post another author's note later on, let you know how she's doing. Thank you all again for sticking with this story, regardless of the years, and we're both so, so sorry this wasn't updated faster. Your support truly does mean a lot to all of us, but especially to Zanie. Thank you all for being here for her, regardless of where you are in the world, and whether you've just found this story or have been with it since its beginning. You don't know how much you truly mean to her, to all of us.

And now, onto the next chapter...

A/N: New Prompt:

Cursed Seeds

It took him several minutes to gather his wits about him, to gather air back into his lungs, for the blast had been not only enough to throw him back and knock him off his feet, but to steal all the breath from his lungs in the process. When he finally was able to get enough air to climb to his feet, he turned to Father Frost. "What... what did she mean by..."

The older spirit took a deep breath; this wasn't his story to tell. He knew not the details, only that it had to do with Marzanna, his son, and her father. "No one is entirely sure, Jack, but, from what Old Man Winter and I have been able to gather, this..." He turned back to the bedroom, Marzanna, who stood with her head down, long dark hair tumbling about her face.

"Your father..." She swallowed thickly.

"What... about Father?" Jack asked, taking a breath.

Marzanna sniffled, tears coming to her eyes. How did she possibly tell her son of what his grandfather had done, years before he'd been born? How did she bring about such... such painful, heartbreaking news? "I was meant for another. My hand was already given to another god, when..." She stopped. "I was never meant for your father."

"So... so it was... forbidden love? But... but I don't understand? What does that have to do with my wife?"

A shake of the head. "To... punish your father... my... my father... cursed his seed."

Blood.

So. Much. Blood.

She pushed again, straining against the pain; blood coated her hands, it pooled at her feet and ran in rivulets down her legs. Were she still mortal, she would have died long before now-

Slowly, she pulled herself up, only for her knees to give out, sending her to the floor. She crumpled beside the stool, sending it toppling over, leaving her sitting in a pool of her own blood. "Please, little one, you must come out."

She groaned, bearing down again, hands reaching down between her spread legs. After several long, hard pushes, the babe still refused to come. She leaned forward, letting out a cry, primal and animalistic in nature, a wounded animal in the throes of death. Taking a deep breath, she looked up, to see the blood spread out before her, coating the floor in delicate patterns as it went.

"I... need you to... come..."

She pushed again, longer this time, taking quick, short breaths in between. Still, the babe didn't come; still, more blood left her body, pooling on the floor around her, painting her skin red and scenting the air with copper. She'd no idea immortals bled so much; she had always thought that an immortal had no blood within their bodies, for they possessed no pulse, no heartbeat, and therefore, should possess no blood... and yet, the amount of blood staining the floor beneath her was-

Almost all the blood a mortal possesses.

A grunt of pain escaped her throat, and she pushed again, body straining against the pain. Exhausted from pushing, she lay back against the side of the bed, hands resting in the puddle of blood beneath her, chest heaving as she struggled to take air into her lungs. Her death on the eve she and Jack consummated their marriage was nothing compared to this-

She pushed again, sitting up and pressing her hands to either side of her belly. "Come... for me... my love... you must come..."

Another push. And another. More blood poured out of her, thick and red.

Somehow, someway, she managed to pull herself to her feet, grabbing onto the bed. Maybe a shift in position would help the babe to come-

But all standing did was make the contractions worse, made it easier for the blood to escape her. She looked down, watching in horrified silence as it raced down her legs, bright and fresh. Her coated hands left prints on the covers of their bed, and a moment passed, as she let out a bellow of pain, a fresh contraction grabbing her around the waist and sending her back to her knees. Choking on a sob, she reached down between her legs, rocking back and forth as the pain got worse, holding her hands over her opening, praying to whatever gods were listening that this torture end and she either be allowed to die or allow her child to enter the world, for she couldn't take this for much longer.

"Get it out... get it out of me, please... I beg you... whatever sin I've committed... whatever sin I'm paying for... just make it stop... please, make it stop... rip me open if you must... just get this babe out of me, please... let me be with Mama and Papa... please... mhmm... god... just let me die... please... let me die... I would rather die than suffer the next thousand years this... please, let me die... please... I want to be with Mama and Papa... please... let me die... please, I'm begging you... I'm begging you..."

She collapsed onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest, keeping her hands between her legs, choking on a sob. It hurt too much to move, to push herself back to her knees; she spent the next several minutes just trying to catch her breath. A sob escaped her throat, and she reached up, pressing firmly against her belly. "Spare my baby, but take me, please... take me... don't take my baby..."

A moment passed before she shifted onto her back, attempting to gather her strength. She ignored the blood matting into her hair, the way it stained her clothing and skin, how it continued to flow out of her, between her fingers onto the floor beneath her. After several minutes, she managed to push herself up, looking around. Blood stained the floor, the fabric of her gown, her skin, and it was still coming, pouring from her like a steady stream from a broken faucet.

Contractions grabbed her around the waist, hardening her belly, making her struggle to stifle a scream. How many hours had she been locked within labor? How many days? Years, even? Was she repeating the event and had no realization until now? How every fiber of her body screamed in agony, every muscle tightened, it felt as though it would never end. Her legs and hands were coated in blood, were her beloved husband to see her-

Oh, Jack, my love. I'm sorry.