Abertha seems to note my hesitation. “There might be—side effects.” “I don’t care.” Another spasm racks me and my womb cramps, knotting my guts, stealing my breath. Nothing is worse than this. Nothing. “I can’t really predict what might happen.” “Please.” Tears stream down my cheeks. “The Fates have a tendency of getting their way in the end.” “Abertha, you said you could help.” “No young,” she says again. I wail. I’m past being able to argue. I can only beg. “Please.” She blows on her palms and rubs them together. “This might hurt.” I’d laugh if I could.
