The day Cecile's water broke and her child was born everyone was home. I was at the dining table already and Cecile when coming for dinner when she collapsed onto the floor, Gregoire and Laurel sweeping down to catch her. Cecile cried out in pain and we saw water leak out.

"Her water broke!" Laurel announced to Shannon, who nodded swiftly and made way for them to bring her somewhere in the room on the first floor.

Only Veronique, Laurel, and Shannon—not even Gregoire—was allowed in. They took turns going out for more cloth, fresh water, or even to carry out bloody cloth and from their focused faces we couldn't tell how it was going.

"Is it painful?" Lark asked, sitting on my lap. She was big and it was kind of numbing my legs but I held her tight.

"I think, it's like pushing out a baby from your belly."

"Scientifically I think it's from the vagina," Bernadette said. Lark didn't laugh at the word as she used to, and only held my hand firmly.

"Why is there so many blood?"

"Well, the flesh gets torn—right, Bernadette? Can you explain it?" I asked, wanting to know too.

Bernadette looked on sadly and didn't say anything. "I don't know either."

"It's been hours, I think five?" Adalyn said, eyes traveling to the grandfather clock. We sat at the dining room as Yves and Uriel comforted Gregoire who stood by the door to the room. I could faintly hear Cecile's moans and groans increasing in volume one moment and gone another, making my heart jump.

"It may take days sometimes," I said.

"No!" Lark began to cry, and I also wanted to. Without a word she leapt off my lap and as she was about to go to the room, I held her and pulled her back, but she smacked my hand away.

"I'm asking Veronique—"

"No!" I snapped, "You can't do anything! What are you going to do, put more pressure on Cecile by wanting her to hurry? Worry her by crying outside the door and making her uncomfortable?"

I was so strict I surprised myself, and Lark wiped at her face.

"Fine, I'll wait," she said obediently.

Although she sat down I stood up myself. "I'll check with Gregoire and tell you three how it's going instead. I'll be fast."

I closed the door behind me and hurried towards the three men pacing about the hallway.

"How's Cecile?" I asked Yves. Gregoire seemed too fragile, and Uriel was—was a different story.

Yves looked at me with a rare expression. It made my stomach fall.

"What is it? Is it a miscarriage?" I whispered softly so Gregoire couldn't hear.

"No, Cecile has a hemorrhage. I think the baby is coming out soon, would you stay here?"

"Why?" Those words seem ominous.

"I only want—I want Cecile to have her husband and friend outside."

Shannon came out, this time carrying more bloodied towels that smelled heavily. Gregoire and I swarmed her.

"How's Cecile?" he asked.

"Is she still bleeding?" I asked.

"She's very, very tired. I think she might be fine as of now, but the baby is out."

"But the bleeding?" Gregoire asked.

Shannon shook her head.

"Can I see her?"

"If she's still awake, yes."

"May I?" I asked Gregoire, who nodded.

The door opened again and Veronique and Laurel both exited, looking for Gregoire. He seemed as scared as a rabbit as he entered, and I followed, without their permission, though.

Inside Cecile was on a bed almost soaked completely with blood, and she was sweating hard, her chest rising and falling. They had put a cover over her body but her top was bare.

She hugged a wet and pleating baby to her bosom, and the baby didn't have her white complexion but the red and toned one of Gregoire's.

She gave a weak smile when she saw us both. She tried to speak.

"Don't—don't force yourself to smile," Gregoire said softly. "I'm so happy. I'm happy you're alive, Cecile. I told you, we will be happy together. Now I have you and the baby, I'm so grateful for you—I'm so—I'm the luckiest man alive—"

He fell to his knees by her bedside and Cecile touched the tears that fell from his cheeks.

Gregoire held her hands softly, and then Cecile brought their clasped hands to her baby.

"Manon," she said in the faintest whisper.

It was a girl—a daughter.

Manon had a crumpled up face with a squashed nose so I couldn't tell her features, but Gregoire and Cecile looked at her with loving eyes.

"We will raise her to be a kind, honest, and most of all, happy girl. I promise I'll protect her, but she'd probably be stronger than me anyways." Gregoire was laughing and crying, and Cecile stroked his face wordlessly.

She looked up at me, and finally I made my way to them until I stood by her side. I knelt down too, next to Gregoire, and looked at her.

"Cecile, you've done it. See, it's all fine. You'll be happy with your family, and I'll be Manon's godmother. I'll come visit you three so remember to keep a place for me every sixth of September. Remember that, it's her birthday."

I didn't know why, but I turned emotional too, looking at Cecile's labored breathing and somehow cold, no, distant eyes.

I hurried to speak.

"Remember we never had birthday? We could never celebrate it with our mothers or fathers, and as a child Sabine and I would imagine our families. I knew my mother but—you were more of a mother. If I ever have the chance to choose a mother, I would choose you, because I knew you'd love me. You'd be the perfect mother—soft-spoken, understanding, and you give advice even when you have your issues to figure out. Slightly a scaredy-cat, but brave enough to come outside with me, and very, very admirable of you to leave that castle for love."

I fell silent and saw the baby tighten its fist that was like a paw and kick slowly with its stubby legs, making Gregoire laugh.

"But for now, rest. It's all alright. Manon is here and she's already so strong. Gregoire will always be by your side, and me too—"

The doorknob sounded before the door opened, and I saw Laurel and Shannon hurry in with more cloth. They pulled up the cover over Cecile and changed what they were using to stuff her rupture, but it was still soaked red.

I watched blankly as they worked together, Laurel taking out dyed red cloth as long as an arm and tossing it on the edge of the bed as Shannon carefully folded more white cloth and packed up Cecile with her legs now propped up. Red, white, red, white.

When Cecile's legs closed again they gestured for us to go. I stood up and left, but although Cecile looked at Manon, Gregoire sat down, quiet but eyes never leaving them.

I left, feeling an incredible sadness in that room, and when I smelled the air, the blood seemed to smell like death.

A dying animal, like a dying human, releases a scent only vampires can sense. I killed many humans, and it was once all I could smell in my room, but now, from Cecile, it made me dizzy and my heart ache.

When I exited the room and saw Uriel, he seemed to know from that one look I had on my face.

I didn't say anything, but even Yves quickly averted his eyes as though he heard me say it.

I went to Lark and the rest and thought of lying, but a smile wouldn't even form on my face. It felt heavy, and I myself seemed to lose balance as I walked, Adalyn guiding me to a chair.

"Let's wait until tomorrow," I said, forgetting to tell them about Manon's safe delivery.

That night I went outside again, and Uriel and Yves followed. Without anything between us three, no more jealousy, hate, or love, only bounded by the wish for Cecile and Gregoire to be blissful, we sat at the steps on the porch.

"It's a beautiful night. I'll remember this sky forever as the day Manon is born," Yves mused.

"You're half vampire," I said. "You're such a liar."

"Don't worry, my father was from a very ordinary clan. I won't turn out like you, or Rowena and Selma."

Uriel and I laughed, but we were so—fake.

"Cecile is beautiful. I hope her daughter inherits that from her." I sighed, leaning back. "And her big heart. Her innocence. Her devotion to love. Her fragrance. Her pretty eyes. Her lashes."

"Manon isn't Cecile." Uriel didn't say it out of malice, but I understood.

I buried my face in my hands.

"Cecile had a friend named Manon. I only remembered today. She was killed by the Elders. I finally remember. Cecile loved us all, she was the kindest of us. She saw our unhappiness and always tried to fix it, even to tell me to face Sabine, which I was always scared of.

"Cecile would be on the lookout when Sabine snuck into the dungeons for me. Cecile blushes easily if we mentioned Gregoire. She treasures her books from him and showed me enthusiastically. She is loved the Lark and the rest. They told me she used to help them in the kitchen, and even if Selma or Rowena got mad at them she would put the blame on herself. As a child she always took it on herself to protect Sabine and I. She sang that lullaby to me. Maybe she was the woman who was my mother and I've been lying to myself."

"We all do, don't we?" Yves replied with a sigh. "Cecile came to me to ask about Gregoire. She wanted to know more about him and his past but was scared to ask, so I told her to ask. To thank me she made me some strange dessert, like caramel custard, I think. Gregoire told me she didn't have self confidence but she was the kindest out of you girls. She told us about the castle and tower, the past vampire heads and the humans confined. But she never said it with pride. Her eyes seemed so—so—well, I guess ashamed?"

"Guilty," Uriel followed up. "And she was kind. She always told me to follow my heart. When we left the tower she hugged me and thanked me, and I was really touched by what she said. I allowed Gregoire to be with her because I knew she truly loved him."

"Cecile's the best vampire there is," Yves said.

"She really is," I said, but the skies had blurred, and the small dots of light seemed like magic from a god or goddess, like splatters of white paint.

I saw that sky like it was different from all the other nights, it was a scene I could only see and cherish now. The three of us stayed out for three hours, crying softly. For Gregoire, Manon—and Cecile.

As as we recalled all these memories, the night passed and it was the seventh.

And on the morning of September seventh Cecile died.