YOUR MOUTH IS POISON

She panics. Her children are sick, her children are dying, and it is all her fault. Her heart races deeply as she paces back and forth, erratic thoughts pounding through her head like a sledge hammer. Pupils dilate as she tries to think of solutions; she is no healer, she knows nothing of herbs and remedies, and only knows of war and conquest. The gods must be smiting her, but for what?

For Raisa? She has doubts of that, for the gods themselves have been prone to loving those of the same gender. For being slow to conquer? She doubts that as well, for they have been the ones to send plagues and bears after her, inhibiting her ability to grow her pack and lead it to victory. She knows the answer; they are punishing her for her children, for they are out of wedlock. She ought to have been stronger to fend off her attacker, and it is all her fault.

She pauses for a moment, breath hitching as she thinks over her options. She has to find a way to please her gods, has to come up with a way to fix this, but the Empress can hardly breathe let alone think through solutions.