𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 - 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘𝚗

𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎

1806, Halland, Sweden

Florence grips the hand of her younger sister, her only sibling for now, both of their palms were connected slickly with dripping sweat. Her eyes are brimmed with tears but her free hand wipes them away before they have a chance to stain and rose her cheeks.

Screams and wails interrupt the shared moment between sisters, and she feels little Viktoria tremble as if stones were being aimed at her and she was crumbling like parchment. Their father had disappeared somewhere once their mother's screams escaped her every five seconds.

The family were enjoyed their designated time of fika before their mother was forced to retire to her room, she had writhed all the way through and couldn't bare a conversation that wasn't her practically hissing out a response through her gritted teeth.

And then it was all abandoned, the girls who had once been dressed and dotted on as if they were porcelain dolls were left, their silk dresses crumpled and infront of them lay a beautiful display of various tea flavours, fresh pastries and cakes that Viktoria greedily gobbled most of it, the only survivors had been from after their father has scolded her, stating Viktoria would never find a husband if she were to continue to be so unladylike. Viktoria had been solemn after that, there were no passing words between her and Florence, and her elder sister was devastated.

This wasn't going to be Florence's second sibling but rather the fourth sibling of hers. Florence was the first disappointment, well the self proclaimed disappointment, her parents had insisted their happiness with the birth but a Duke and Duchess need a son - something Florence was not. She had been a saddening, gracious presence as the first born for thirteen years.

Next came Viktoria, fashioned a lady aswell. Believed to have died in the stomach of her mother there was little hope, but both parents prayed desperately for a son finally. Not to much surprise, her birth disheartened her father immensely, he had fallen to the ground silently sobbing as the doctor stated proudly the gender of the new child, aswell as Florence their parents conversed about her in private ever since she was born all those eight years ago.

Less than a year later, the Duchess welcomed another child but with delight there must also come devastation. The newborn was announced as a son, the Duke broke out in a toothless, smug grin and he promptly arrived at the side of his wife and slipped his fingers in hers and kissed over her knuckles.

As soon as the kiss was placed on her skin, the doctor had already announced that the long awaited son was dead. The Duchess raised her head wearily, shaking her head not believing in the truth before throwing herself face first into her husbands chest, he said nothing and allowed her tears to sodden his clothes, desperate cries and mumbling rung out through the fabric as the Duke started blankly forward, watching the doctor carelessly hand over the young corpse to one of the nurses to be wrapped and taken away.

"Eléanore, kärlek, please, we can have another, don't blame yourself, we shall meet him again in a better world." He had soothed her, though how much she believed was maybe little.

Ulrika followed, born in the early winter of 1801, rain had spluttered down on the windows as Eléanore groaned as her body was put through hell once again. The births had easened over the years but it was still a struggling process. But this was easier than the rest, the doctor raced to hold the child and bring her up to her parents, blood lay disgustingly on whatever her little head had, her mother had sighed and kissed her, murmuring how much she loved the child.

Her husband was there, and he had to swallow his disappointment of a third girl, and comforted his wife, and even cooed at her. More than what he had done with his elder girls. It was he who had suggested the name Ulrika after his mother who herself had passed in his younger brother's birth. And to not ease his undignified anger, his father remarried and his eldest child disowned his father.

"Eric," Eléanore had whispered, "I'm sorry it is a girl, the next shall be a son, an heir, I promise."

For the next five years he had hoped blindly they his next child would finally be an heir, a son worthy of being the next Duke of Halland, it was non negotiable that Eric was running out of time, he had turned forty seven in March whilst his wife remained ungreyed at the still prime age of thirty two.

And he still only had two surviving children.

Over the last five years his wife had experienced atleast two miscarriages and the death of Ulrika. The Halland's had friends and companions all over, the Duchesses remained mostly in London, her hometown, whilst Eric's spread all over, stretching from Africa, to the Americas to all over Europe. He supposed he had to thank his parents, when his mother still breathed, for his education that required his presence in so many countries, he made such varied friends, but then he met Eléanore and he just had to marry her.

Alexander Campbell was friend of his ever since he stepped off the harbour in Philadelphia, Eric wrote letters to his friend whenever he found the chance to pick up the quill and had the spare parchment. And so Alexander thought it fit to visit his friend in Sweden and his family, he so desperately wanted to meet.

He had always been good with children but never could quite find a wife for himself, Ulrika squealed with joy when she met him and she had dragged him to the floor with her and they spent the rest of the evening playing dolls and whatever else the little one could think of. Both Florence and Viktoria thought themselves too old for playing dolls so Florence occupied her time dedicated to her Latin and dancing lessons whilst Viktoria watched her youngest sister from afar, and sometimes she would roll around on the carpeted floor with Maja, the family's pug dog, Viktoria would laugh and giggle richly as the dog played around ruining her owners white dress with her dirtied paws.

But who was Alexander to know that he had contracted yellow fever, and unknowingly passed it on to the youngest lady of the house. He was on the ship before his symptoms became clear, but it was too late for Ulrika, her headache came quickly, and it was so painful, none of her family could sleep with her groans and cries echoing throughout the halls.

Eventually, her body succumbed to the illness and she was paralyzed by her muscle pains, the only things she was able to do eventually was lift her hand ever so to place a light pet to Maja's head. Doctors came and Eléanore's worries turned to reality, and then less than 72 hours later, her youngest daughter had passed from organ failure whilst a new life blossomed inside of her.

Florence and Viktoria had kept their distance from Campbell and with it escaped the disease.

It was a strange thing to think about, now especially but Florence could hear Ulrika's struggles as her mother yelled profanities as she had to push a baby out of her, Florence grimaced at the idea. Her sisters hand had fallen from her sweat laced grip, she then realizes the absence of her sister next to her and her eyebrows tighten in confusion. The world is silent around her, and she starts to ponder whether she has fallen deaf.

As sound is bought back to her, her mother's groans and wails have disappeared into the air, as if the tranquille unspoken peace had never been broken, as if their fika had been interrupted, as if she had never lost Ulrika and her unnamed brother. As if she was still an innocent uncorrupted child, undefined by so many loses.

She realized then that her father was infront of her, his chest heaving but a proud smile on his face nevertheless. She stood up instantly, straightening her dress as it fell just below her ankles, it was obvious the material had crumpled but she doubt her father would care.

"My girls!," he exclaimed, "You have a new brother - Gustaf Philip!"