Tension hangs in the air as Persephone considers her question, and Arkana grinds her teeth as she waits, causing the tendons of her jaw to bulge and throb. She hardly hears what Persephone says, so great is her anxiety; she merely bobs her head in acknowledgement, maintaining her composure as best as she can as her mind races to decide what she will say next.

Do you think you might be pregnant, Arkana?

The query catches her off-guard. All her senses sharpening to attention, Arkana focuses fully on Persephone, her eyes wide and glassy as a frightened doe’s. After a moment of muteness, she lowers her head, dark forelock cascading like a veil over her face, and nods once.

“Maybe?” she squeaks in a tremulous voice as hot tears begin to streak down her cheeks. “It was an accident. I didn’t plan for this, I swear...” Her words are choked by a few half-suppressed sobs before she can carry on. “The worst… the worst part is...” The crack of a snapping twig jerks her head upright, her red-rimmed eyes searching the shadows between the trees. But there’s no one.

“I don’t know who the sire is,” she continues in a whisper, “and I don’t know how to tell… her.”