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Screams rang in the basement of a handsome manor. A young woman, who's golden hair was flowing down the side of her bed, and who's skin was paler than snow, begged for water in the thick of her contractions.
Her boyfriend, whose dark eyes were fixed on her fragile body, held a cloth soaked in water, for which he used to wipe sweat away from her forehead. When he let it fall to the floor, she grasped his hand, squeezing it white.
Eight hours had passed; eight hours filled with intolerable pain. She was shaking, a woman's agony owning every part her love could lay his tired eyes on. Her body was asking her to surrender, but she fought back, which only made it worse. The amount of blood on the floor reminded her of a battleground; her mind couldn't understand that it was her own blood; it was a miracle that she still had red in her veins.
Raindrops tapped against the window. When she closed her eyes between the glimpses of pain, she imagined that she was in paradise, unfamiliar with misery. She was diving deep into water, finding home in oceans. But throbs of pain came around if she dreamed for too long.
"Can't I just rest for a little longer?" she whispered, beyond scared for more suffering, unaware of how much strength she had left in her.
When her shouts grew louder, the storm outside worsened. Perhaps the black sky, lightning and thunder were a metaphor for the baby's soul.
Three hours later, in the middle of the first night of June, the baby was placed on its mother's chest. It was a girl; a girl who's first home had been the water in her womb. All the pain had been worth it in the end.
The father reached out and stroked the baby's cheek, leaving a kiss on the tired mother's nose. He looked down at his daughter, a smile creeping on his lips.
"My gentle babe Marina - whom, for she was born of the sea, we have nam'd so. You have my heart, my love. I will always be by your side. Always, always, always."
A week passed. The blood had been washed away, and the young woman's body, which she had pulled apart to welcome the babe into the world, was healing. With the sun shining, and the birds singing, the woman sat at the staircase of her family's manor while the father of the child carved the little one's name into the wood of her bed. He peeked his girlfriend's way, wondering how he had gotten so lucky. Then, he looked down at his daughter; the soft miracle. She had his eyes. He knew that she would make him proud of all he watched her do.
Two weeks passed. It was early in the morning when the baby cried out. The mother, barely having enough strength to stand, sobbed, twisting in her bed. The father kissed her, whispering that she needed to go back to sleep. Walking over to the baby's crib, he could hear the wails getting thinner and weaker. He picked his daughter up, letting her head rest against his chest. It gave him peace, knowing that she was unaware that the arm he had wrapped around her was engraved with the mark that had ruined his life.
