Chapter 17 (Dress Sizes)

La Muerte slipped on her silky orange robe over her nightgown and reached for the thin belt to tie it together. She glanced at herself in the mirror as she was tying it, and realized that just slightly left from the center of her abdomen, the fabric was creased. That was where she usually tied the belt, but for the first time she stopped to discover that her stomach had, in fact, gotten a little bigger. It came from the habit of never glancing at herself in a mirror for something as simple as tying a silk belt around herself, but curiously she decided to do so that night. Since the first trimester of her pregnancy was nearing an end, La Muerte had come to terms with the fact that a growing waistline was unavoidable.

She turned to the side and observed the slightest change in her figure. Her stomach had the slightest bump, but if she stood perfectly erect she would be able to hide it with an ornamented cover or something of that sort. She often fantasized about such a thing before she had conceived, and she thought she would accept these changes easily. Instead, she grimaced in slight disappointment. Never in her life had her stomach been anything but flat.

She tossed herself onto their bed and laid sideways, watching as her husband dressed himself in his nightly robes and hid away his 'forgotten' armor. Her face was somber but troubled him as he turned back to meet her eye.

"Is everything alright, mi amor?" Xibalba asked quietly, coming around to his side of the bed.

She continued to lay on her side, her eyes staring blankly at the wall.

"Do you think I'm getting fat?"

Xibalba had been around for eons. He had heard this all over the land of the living from expecting women over the course of many years. He just never expected hearing such a statement from his wife.

"Darling, I am no expert in such matters," he replied as he crawled into bed. "But I'm more than sure that once you're pregnant, you're supposed to start, appearing, well, bigger."

"You are right… but… this soon?"

"Muertita, you're nearing the end of your first term, according to the doctor." The god wrapped his arm over his wife's waist. "Besides, I don't see a downside. I think you look rather adorable."

La Muerte blushed and peeked back over her shoulder. "Adorable?"

"You know I stumbled across a book recently that explained how signs of fertility make a woman more attractive in a man's eyes." He chuckled lowly. "And you are definitely one attractive woman…"

She blushed and giggled as she snuggled into her pillow, melting against her husband's touch.

"Why do you know exactly what to say sometimes?" she replied smugly. She smiled and nestled deep into her bed, feeling as Xibalba's fingers 'walked' along her abdomen.

"I can't even imagine what your parents are thinking right now," Xibalba chuckled, trying to appeal to her sense of humor.

Rather, La Muerte's eyes cracked wide open and she sat up quickly, breathing heavily.

"My parents?!"

Xibalba followed her up and worriedly grabbed her arms.

"La Muerte, are you nuts? Calm down, I don't want anything to happen to you or the baby…"

The goddess closed her eyes and stabilized her breathing. She felt her panic subsiding and regained control of herself.

"Xibalba, I haven't told my parents…" she confessed, rather regrettably.

"You haven't?" The god felt bewildered. "But you tell your parents everything! Sometimes I wish you told them much less!"

"Xibalba this has been a ridiculously stressful few months!" she retorted in defense. "It was always on my mind to find a special way to tell them and I've completely forgotten!"

"Well that's not my problem!"

In an instant heard a clap and immediately following felt a stinging sensation on the side of his face. The smell of marigolds lingered faintly behind, and he found that La Muerte's eyes were not in the most pleasant of glares.

"Well thanks for your support!"

"Mi amor…" he said sheepishly. "You know that your father and I don't get along. But, in my humble opinion, keeping this from your parents any longer is a bad idea. And this is coming from a man full of bad ideas."

La Muerte sighed and crossed her arms across her stomach. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but you're right."

He rubbed her upper arm comfortingly, his fingers gently massaging her. "Do what your sister did. That would take...what, five seconds?"

"I don't want to write them just a letter!" she scoffed. "And I'm not my sister. I've happened to maintain a relatively good relationship with my parents these last few years, and I'm not disinclined to invite them over."

Xibalba bit his lip uncomfortably, but after catching the determined gaze in his wife's eyes, he decided it was best to keep his mouth shut.

"Alright, mi amor, whatever you say."

La Muerte let out a calmed breath and lowered her head back onto her pillow, facing toward edge of the bed. She felt her husband watching her, but didn't pay mind. Her hand absentmindedly grazed over her stomach and she let out a tired sigh.

"The problem is," she muttered to herself. "My father still doesn't like you."

~~~ Ometeopl, the Palace of Death, Midday~~~

"MICTECA!"

"MICTLAN!"

The birds all squawked and flew in their flock from the windows and scattered into the numerous trees around the palace.

"MY ROBE!"

"MY WINE!"

The elder gods stared at one another in complete shock and disgrace as they stood confronted at the threshold of their library. Micteca fixated her stance in an erect manner, holding a nearly empty chalice. Mictlan however, glared down at his pure white robe, now stained down the front with blood red wine.

"This robe was a gift!" he complained. "And there is no way this is ever going to get out!"

"You have powers for crying out loud!" she retorted. "Use magic! Of course it's going to come out!"

He glared at her. "What feather did you pair it with?"

"I dropped in two owl feathers and half a raven feather to spice it up."

"TWO OWL?" Mictlan was nearly in hysterics. "It'd be hard enough to re-enchant anything under one owl essence, let alone two!" He groaned. "I'll have to burn it. What a waste."

Micteca rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, drinking whatever was left of her wine. "What a waste of a good wine is more like it. We have an entire room in this palace dedicated to your robes."

"Don't act like we don't have a similar room for wine.," he grimaced, fumbling with the fabric. "This won't do at all."

Micteca raised an eyebrow as she watched her husband slip off the top of the robe, revealing his rib cage.

"Haven't seen that in a while," she said under her breath.

All of a sudden there came a knocking at one of their windows, followed by a shriek from Mictlan as he attempted to clutch his stained robe over his exposed chest. Micteca could only roll their eyes as she walked over and opened the pane for one of their messenger ravens.

"Pull yourself together, Mictlan," she said, taking the scroll from the bird's leg and unraveling it.

Mictlan tossed his robe over his arm. "What have we there?"

"It seems that our daughter has invited us to dinner."

Mictlan cocked a brow bone. "Mind telling me which daughter?"

"La Muerte."

"Oh her cooks are the best," he grinned. "Come on, shall we call for the carriage?"

"Uh… Mictlan…"

The god and goddess exchanged looks; he gestured out of confusion.

Micteca shook her head. "Go and put a robe on please."

As the bone carriage pulled up to the castle of the Remembered, La Muerte stood at the front of the yard. Two of her remembered servants opened the cage doors and her parents exited. She immediately hugged her father, lost in his dark navy robe.

Mictlan hugged her back eagerly. "Oh darling, you have us come out here so often, you might as well take us out of retirement!"

La Muerte grinned and giggled slightly. "Papa, I just think that now's a good time for you to come out. You and mama can't tell me that you really enjoy endlessly sitting up in Ometeopl for decades on end."

He laughed. "Mijita, you know I'd give any reason to come down to see both you and your sister."

"You know you never need a reason to see us, papa. It's not like we'll ever close our doors to you." La Muerte giggled. "But if mama's throwing a fit we'll lock all the entrances to the realm."

Mictlan chortled uproariously as his wife stepped out from the bone carriage, servants fixing the bottom of her robes. Micteca's face was composed sternly as she eyed her husband and daughter gravely.

"I heard that."

La Muerte gave a teasing sigh. "It's good to see you too mama."

Micteca's eyes scoured over her daughter, sensing that something was disparate. There was a most meager change in La Muerte's stature, the way she presented herself, and even the way her eyes met the ancient goddess's own. She fixated her study on every aspect of La Muerte's physique, seemingly slowing down time. Her daughter's face seemed swollen and tired, and she continually fidgeted with her arms, crossing them back and forth. Micteca creased her eyebrows in thought, and consciously focused in closely around her waist. It took a nanosecond to notice the slightly tighter creasing of her dress around her stomach. As she began to pull together the pieces, her glance softened like it never had before. Keeping her composure, she approached her daughter, embracing her stiffly, as usual.

In the first moment of their touch, the ancient goddess's voice whispered lowly. "You're pregnant…"

La Muerte felt the feeling in her face disappear. "How did you know?"

Micteca strengthened her grip just slightly to mask their conversation, giving a small shake of the head. "Your father may be oblivious but there's no fooling me, my dear."

It felt like a weight off of La Muerte's shoulders. Her mother was a difficult woman to please, and revealing a pregnancy had been fermenting in her mind like a terrible nightmare. La Muerte didn't fear her mother for the sake of fear. She feared her mother out of love.

Mictlan glimpsed at the two and cleared his throat.

"May I ask where your useless dimwit of a husband is?"

La Muerte circled swiftly to her father and felt a ting of emotions flood over her.

"Papa! You can't keep talking about him that way!"

"Well why not?"

"Because….because…"

Micteca stepped in and sternly took her husband's shoulder. "That's enough, the both of you. I came here to have some fantastic food and wine and I'd much rather get to it."

The ancient goddess took her daughter by the arm and strutted away with her into the palace, leaving Mictlan to follow behind.

"Out of curiosity," she whispered. "Where is Xibalba?"

La Muerte somewhat sighed. "He didn't want to get in the way of papa and I… especially if I was to tell you two that I'm pregnant…"

She received a very rare semi-sensitive glance from her mother.

"La Muerte, I'm no expert in empathy. All I have to say is, I forgave your husband long ago. But he won't forgive and forget unless you make him."

"But how? I've been trying to tell him for the longest time…"

"Well, maybe, this baby will be just what you need to convince him otherwise."

The dining table was full of gorgeously plated dishes, with a most pleasant aroma wafting across the room. La Muerte's chefs were some of the best who had ever lived, spending their afterlife in the Remembered willingly cooking for her and continuing their craft. They had meals from all eras, and wines ready from all centuries. The Land of the Remembered had the ultimate kitchen, crowned as the best in all of the thirteen realms.

"Everything. Smells. Godly." Mictlan grinned, twiddling his skeletal fingers semi-greedily. Micteca rolled her eyes and glanced at her daughter.

"Thank you, darling," she said instead, taking a seat gingerly. Sitting back, she ordered her plate be filled with more tradition corn dishes, particularly the hallaca and the nopales, and that she be given the finest wine placed on the table. Mictlan, on the other hand, served himself, as was normal for him. He took bits of everything, that way he could know just exactly what was worth getting seconds of, and what he could hold off on. Immediately, the scent of crisp, blue tortillas hit him; he simply couldn't resist.

La Muerte chuckled and lowered herself into a chair carefully, her back erect. Her father was not as automatic as her mother, and his attention to detail could only be turned on selectively. She forgot how tight this dress was now that she was sitting, rather uncomfortably, and was afraid that the curve of her stomach would be too evident. She smiled as she took a plate herself, loading it with her usual favorites. Suddenly, her eye caught the rib eye steak sitting in the middle of the table. It was nearly the size of her plate, and normally, much larger than any portion she could ever eat in one sitting. But at the sight, she felt her stomach rumble and her mouth watered just slightly. She had experienced only a couple of episodes of strange cravings, but this one was larger than any she had before.

The baby definitely had the appetite of their father.

She contemplated reaching for it, considering it would surprise both of her parents. She was a calm, picky eater, and had been one all her life. She wasn't opposed to meats, but never had she been particularly fond of them. Her portions were always small, and she never overate. But something inside her wanted so badly to pile that rib eye onto her plate, and to hell what her parents would think. However, she was afraid of triggering Mictlan's attention to detail, knowing that such a clue could give her condition away.

He happened to interrupt her train of thought. "Won't you pour yourself a chalice of wine, mijita? It's such a fine dinner, you simply can't go without it."

While she had been afraid of consuming a steak, the goddess forgot that her avoidance of wine would have been stingingly more significant a hint.

"Oh, no, papa," she replied, wringing her hands nervously. "I'd rather not today."

"But wine at dinner is a tradition!" he pressed on, taking a fork load of the beef and rice up to his skeletal mouth. "You've been drinking it with us since you've come of age!"

"Papa, please," La Muerte shook her head. "I honestly do not want any."

As if to make matters worse, her mother exhumed a loud, annoyed scoff.

"Mictlantelchuti, quit pressuring your daughter." She turned her head to the side and murmured under her breath. "Of course only you could be so oblivious."

Mictlan heard and turned his head towards his wife. "Oblivious to what?"

Her face twisted in annoyance. "How can you, of all gods, not-"

"Mother." La Muerte interrupted sharply, a little more sharply than she had imagined in her head. She cleared her throat and placed a hand on her forearm. "Please… if you wouldn't mind."

Micteca silently sat back in her chair and respected her daughter's wish.

Mictlan cocked an eyebrow and peered over at La Muerte. "Is everything alright darling? You seem a little on edge."

"Me? Papa, I'm fine. Really." She gave a small, forced giggle. "Just have a good time, will you?"

Mictlan nodded and reached for another tortilla, and was surprised to find that there were none left.

"Did I really go through all of these?"

La Muerte giggled again, but found herself genuinely happier. "It seems you did, papa. The servants will be out with more soon."

"Oh they take too long anyway," he retorted, standing from the ebony chair. "I'll get them. And while I'm at it, have a word or two with your chef. Because I'm taking some of these recipes home with me."

La Muerte shook her head with a smile and allowed him to dismiss himself. The second her father was out of sight, she quickly reached for the steak she had been eyeing all dinner and carved into it ravenously. The beef seemed to melt on her tongue the second she placed it in her mouth, and she closed her eyes blissfully. From the other side of the table, Micteca stared at her daughter, practically appalled.

"My my," she commented. "Where did that come from?"

La Muerte glared at her as she vigorously cut another piece. "Hush, mama. I'm not going to let dad see me eat this. But I can't deny the baby what they want either."

Micteca nodded halfheartedly and leaned back into her chair when her plate was empty. "How do you plan on telling your father, then?"

La Muerte halted before eating another piece. She sighed and set her fork down. "I don't know. I planned to tell both of you at dinner. But you figured it out. And I completely forgot that papa has the attention span of a goldfish whenever he's sitting at the dinner table because he's always focused everywhere else. I need us to be alone."

The ancient goddess noticed the distress in her daughter's eyes. "When we finish eating, I'll dismiss myself, maybe I'll go and find your husband. You take him wherever you feel the most comfortable and just… just tell him, honestly. You know how your father is. Sometimes he really needs to hear the words straight from your mouth to comprehend the situation."

La Muerte sighed nervously and set her empty plate aside, just in time before Mictlan strutted back in.

"You didn't tell me blue corn tortillas were on the menu," he joked.

Being so distracted in conversation at the dinner table, La Muerte forgot just how much she could eat at the dinner table.

"I don't think I've had dinner this wonderful in ages," she remarked, placing a hand over her stomach. "The chef must have pulled out all of my favorites."

"As well as mine," Mictlan laughed. "This dinner was absolutely wonderful." He leaned in closer to her. "Keep this between us, but I don't enjoy dinners at your sister's as much as I do here."

La Muerte giggled in response and smiled. "How about we go walk it off? I've got some new additions in the garden that I'd love to show the both of you."

"I'll have to catch up with you two later," Micteca said, excusing herself from the table. "I've got a few things to see to, if you don't mind, La Muerte."

La Muerte's eyes widened a bit. After a second of confusion, she realized her mother's angle.

"That's fine, mama. I hope you'll come back to us later."

"Of course, my dear." Micteca gave her an encouraging look as she strutted out of the dining hall. Mictlan quizzically gazed at her, slightly confused.

"Well, darling, I guess it's just you and me, then."

"It seems so, papa."

La Muerte flashed him the gentlest of smiles as she took his arm and led him out the opposite exit of the dining hall. She escorted him through the corridors, attempting to keep her gait similar to her standard one. Although Mictlan was not particularly observant, she was afraid that the tightness of her dress would cause severe discomfort, and she didn't want to make any faces. Truthfully, it was discomforting. She forgot that eating an entire rib eye was much more than she was used to, and she'd honestly like nothing more than to put on a loose night gown, lie down in bed, and take a long nap with Xibalba's arms around her tummy.

As they stepped into the courtyard of the garden, Mictlan inhaled a breath of the floral aroma. He was no expert when it came to plants, but given his previous experiences in the Remembered, there was a significant difference in the smell. He looked around and noticed the overwhelming flowerbeds covered with irises, some of the yellow and orange variety, others of the black and purple ones.

"Woah, mijita," he chuckled. "When did you have time to do all this? I doubt they'd ever grow in such multitudes."

La Muerte let out a tiny giggle, amused. "Well, papa, I can't say I did this. It was… spontaneous."

Her father cocked his brow bone. "You spontaneously planted all of these? How bored do you get?"

She felt a trickle of nervous sweat roll down the side of his face.

"Papa, there's something I really, really need to tell you."
She pulled him over to a stone bench and took a seat, holding his hand. He fixed his robes and sat beside her, a concerned look sweeping across his face?

"Is everything alright mijita? Don't tell me you're ill…"

"I'm not, papa," she replied, blushing as red as the fabric of her dress. She took his hands, more for her own comfort than his.

"These flowers appeared because they represent something very, very important, papa. After all this time, I'm… well…" she smirked happily. "I'm pregnant."

The words hit him like a sudden gust of wind: forceful but subtle at the same time.

"Did you say…" he repeated. "You're pregnant?"

In response to the growing smile on his face, she nodded happily. He gripped her hands, his eyes trailing over to her stomach. He could now recognize the stretches around her dress. He suddenly looked a little concern.

"Ay mijita, why would you go through the trouble of wearing that? You look beyond uncomfortable. You have to let me make you something. An entire wardrobe, if necessary-"

La Muerte cut him off with an amused laugh as she shook her head. "I'm fine, papa. But if you want to make me something, I can't stop you."

Mictlan grinned excitedly. "May I…?"

It was a funny sensation, knowing exactly the intent of her father's question. La Muerte nodded silently as she slowly placed his bony fingers on the barely protruding bump of her stomach. She even noticed him flutter happily, and it made her ecstatic.

He let out a breathless, joyful gasp as he looked down at his daughter. "I can't believe this is really happening…"

"That's right… Xibalba and I are finally having a baby…"

It took the mere mention of his name to change the entire atmosphere. The world around her seemed to blur as the word escaped from her lips. She could no longer read the expression on her father's face. It seemed to falter, almost, as if it deviated from the expression she had just seen. She thought her disclosure was going according to plan.

Instead, in place of happiness, there was confusion. He was perplexed, almost as if he had not understood what she said. She wanted to believe that he hadn't heard, and that he would simply ask her to repeat, and his expression would be fixed. There was only an uncomfortable silence.

She swallowed nervously. "Papa? Are you alright?"

Mictlan inhaled slowly and unhinged his jaw, as if he needed to say something for the sake of her relief. He was overjoyed at the first news, but had seemingly forgotten, in the moment, that it took two to make a child, and therefore, the child was one half of the other. Conflict overtook him, for he didn't know what to make of this news anymore. From the first day he held her in his arms, he wanted nothing but for all her dreams and aspirations to come true. He anticipated her growing up, her marriage, her motherhood. But ever since the scandal with that trash "husband" of hers, he wasn't sure how to foresee her future. He had a hard time believing she could ever be truly happy with someone who hurt her in such a manner, even with the level of kindness she possessed. Having a child was a certain milestone in a relationship that he deemed irreversible, and while he felt like he should be happy for her, he couldn't bring himself thinking of this as anything but a trap.

"Mijita… I'm going to need a few moments to think about this…"

Without another word, he rose from the bench and strode off into the corridor from which they came. La Muerte tried to summon the courage to follow him, but she felt too weak overall to even lift herself from the bench. No longer caring about upholding her appearance, she let her stomach relax comfortably, her shoulders drooping as she brought her hands up to her face and began to hopelessly cry.

He stormed through her decorated hallways, nearly floating rather than walking. The servants that he encountered expertly dispersed, knowing better than to get in his way. The influx of news he had been given was too much for him to comprehend at this particular moment, and personally, he felt it best to remove himself from the situation.

Mictlan aimed for the wide front doors, reaching for the handles. Just before he could curl his fingers around them, the doors flew open. Only mildly startled, he jumped, but his disposition reverted back to bitter once he saw Xibalba standing before him.

"Get out of my way, cerebro de brea1," he growled, attempting to continue forward. In the sockets of his eyes there was a small, apparent glow. He stuck his arm out to push Xibalba out of his way, but was unsuccessful as the other god grabbed his wrist and shoved him back. An unprecedented action.

"How dare you!" Mictlan yelled furiously, a product of his current state. The winds picked up around them. They flowed through Mictlan's robes fittingly, while stung uncomfortably through the slits in Xibalba's wings. Even the sound of the moving air broke the otherwise-silent atmosphere.

Xibalba had never shown any particular liking to his father-in-law before, but he had to admit, he had never seen him fuming like this. La Muerte had told him of her intentions this morning, and he'd assume everything would transpire swimmingly. While he had a horrible relationship with her father, he assumed there would be over-the-moon for his precious daughter. Given Mictlan's disposition, that obviously wasn't the case.

"Where do you think you're going?" the tar god snapped. "Where's my wife?"

"You mean my daughter. Get out of my way. Or I won't hesitate to fulfil my lifelong dream of tearing you to shreds."

"Go ahead." He retorted, slamming the door shut. "But I'm not letting you leave until he until I know my wife is alright."

Mictlan snarled. "Since when have you been concerned for her well being? Don't pretend like your concerns come from anything but your lust for a presentable image."

"I've cared for her since the day I met her!" Xibalba defended.

"You've compromised my daughter's heart, her dignity, and her love for you!" he interrupted, his voice reverberating along the walls of the enormous space. "How DARE you think that you can waltz back into her life, and take advantage of her good nature. How you can rest easy thinking that she's completely forgiven you, and that you aren't to be held accountable for the actions you took to corrupt her."

Physically, Xibalba was ready to attack him. There was a tension that vibrated through the tar of his body, a tension that he had to work hard to suppress to stop himself from squaring his father-in-law in the nose. Rather, he gripped his snake-staff tighter and stiffened.

"Why can't you understand that I am grateful for her forgiveness every waking moment? Especially since it's been so long."

"You expect me to believe you've anything of a good nature? And now, you've trapped her with a child, powerless to do anything against should it happen that you pull another episode!"

And that was when they heard a soft voice behind them, veiled by quieted sobs, say "Papa, that's enough."

Just seconds after her father left, La Muerte broke. Everything was painful. She felt like she wanted to sob a river of tears, but wasn't strong enough to throw her body into that kind of an emotional stimulation. The best she could do was quietly cry. She shook hopelessly on the bench, knowing she had said something wrong. She realized that it wasn't her that her father was upset about. It was, as it always is, her husband. Whom he couldn't respect enough to bypass as the father of the child she had tried so long to conceive. Subconsciously, she felt as if she had committed some cardinal sin, one that could never be forgiven, and that the baby she carried would never find favor with their grandfather. She knew Mictlan differently, she thought, that despite his hate for her husband he would summon the wisdom to be happy for her. She wasn't even sure if she was reading far too into it. But it hurt nonetheless.

Micteca strutted into the garden, finding herself in a cold yet pleased disposition. She assumed she'd find her husband with her daughter, excitedly chattering on about the baby, names, clothing, preparation, all sorts of things. But when she saw La Muerte sobbing on the bench, she was over come with a boiling anger. Her husband had the potential for messing a lot of things up. She couldn't even imagine the damage he had done here.

"What in the thirteen realms went on in here?" she asked, her voice minimally emotional.

La Muerte wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. "He hates it. He can't stand the fact that Xibalba is the father… that's how much he hates him mama…"

Just saying it out loud make the reality far more painful. Her hands returned to her face, which was scrunched up at every hurtful tear. Micteca knew that comfort should have been her first instinct, but rather, anger overcame her. How her husband, who she considered far more affectionate than her, could conjure such a feeling.

"Where is he?" she asked unfeelingly. She was ready to give him a piece of her furious mind.

La Muerte shook her head in response, unable to form words.

Taking her by the arms, her mother slowly lifted her from the bench and caught her as she weakly faltered. With a stone cold face, she wiped her daughter's tears and lifted her chin to look at her.

"He isn't getting away with this, and you're going to make sure of it."

La Muerte shuddered a little. "How can I-"

"This is your child," Micteca interrupted fiercely. "Take it from a mother, you are always to protect your children."

The Queen of the Remembered knew better than to argue with her regal mother, and began walking out of the garden with what could be interpreted as a comforting arm around her back.

By the time mother and daughter had made their way down to the front parlor, they were surprised to see the two gods confronting one another. In her whole lifetime, La Muerte had rarely seen her father in such a state. It seemed so out of his character, as if she was looking at a stranger.

"You expect me to believe you've anything of a good nature? And now, you've trapped her with a child, powerless to do anything against should it happen that you pull another episode!"

And that was when she felt the need to speak up, veiled by quieted sobs.

"Padre, that's enough."

Both her husband and father immediately silenced themselves and turned to look in her direction. She stood as stoned cold as her mother, her face stained with shiny, drying tears. Micteca stood regally behind her, her eyes unmoving. While she would let her daughter speak, she was ready to step in at any moment.

La Muerte took in a shaky breath and eyed Mictlan. The resemblance she bore to her mother way striking.

"How dare you judge the legitimacy of my marriage, papa… and how dare you decide the legitimacy of my baby."

"Mijita, that's not what I-"

"What did you mean?" she snapped. "I thought you could see past this and look at the fact that I'm pregnant. That I'm carrying a baby that's going to be your grandchild. Shouldn't you be happy to see another baby in your life? You let your hate for my husband overpower the person I really know you for."

Mictlan's glance began to soften, begging for her empathy. "I'm only looking out for you. I saw you get hurt, and I held you while you were breaking down. Darling, I couldn't stand to see you get hurt again. I'm not sure I would be able to see that again."

"I didn't ask for you to look out for me, papa!" she cried out. "I can do that for myself! I asked you to be happy for me. You were happy for La Noche, and her children were some... some happy accident!"

Tears began stinging her eyes again, and while her mother would not approve, she couldn't stop them.

"It took us so long to conceive this child. This isn't some plot to save our marriage. We saved it because we love each other. And all we wanted was a family. And now that it's happening, I wanted your happiness."

"But how can you assume someone like him could be a good father?!"

She bit her lip and whispered quietly yet forcefully. "Because I love him. And I believe in him. And it's the least you can do if you love me."

There was a dead silence. She had put her father at a loss for words.

"Papa" she said, regaining her strength. "I have let your remarks and attitude slide ever since my husband and I have gotten back together. But I can no longer do that because it hurts me. I know you'd never want to hurt me, but I also know you have a hard time limiting yourself. I won't ask you again to stop disrespecting my husband. But if you do, then I don't think I want to see you. And that hurts me too. But it's best for all of us."

She glared her father in the eyes, holding back her tears with every ounce of strength she possessed. Xibalba, without a word, crossed the room and stood closely next to her, rubbing her arm. At his touched she turned and fell apart quietly again. This time, there were no tears. He could feel the pain in her aura. Glaring at Mictlan, he lifted her into his arms. She pressed her face against his chest vulnerably, and without word was carried away from the situation.

As the parlor grew silent, Mictlan could feel the piercing stare coming from his wife. His bones grew cold just from the eye contact, and suddenly he found her just inches before him.

"I can't tell if you were just trying to be cruel, or if you're really just as stupid as I sometimes forget you are," she growled quietly through her teeth. "Get in the carriage. We're going home."

1 "Tar-for-brains" – per credit of the-musical-cc