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<p>Pan no longer tried to rest; in fact, she hadn't bothered to try for several days now. Once upon a time, she had been a heavy sleeper, one who passed out cold nearly as soon as her head hit the pillow and would not wake for hours, but times had changed; she had changed.<p>
<p>It had been nearly a month now since Pan first realized she was pregnant and even longer since the baby had truly been conceived. Since then, she had not talked to Ouranos, nor had she made another attempt at reaching out to Gaia. Though she slept a floor above her sister each night, they never so much as looked at one another. For Pandora, who had never gone out of her way to make friends but had instead had only flirted with men when the whim arose, time at school was passing very slowly, and she was very lonely. The baby-her baby, and his-was her only consolation. Despite the fact that it would be some time before the baby would be capable of moving at all, and that it couldn't possibly have kicked yet, Pan had been feeling a painful fluttering in her chest for the past few hours or so; stubbornly, resolutely, she believed that it was the baby, reaching out to her, comforting her because it knew she had no one else left.<p>
<p>It was late at night, and stuffy and hot with the approaching summer. Her bed was nearest the far side of the room, and she had opened the window nearby for fresh air. The velvety curtains fluttered in the warm breeze, and outside, crickets chirped their song.<p>
<p>Pan squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on the sound of it, willing her troubling thoughts away, but each time she tried, their face's shimmered in the far recesses of her mind-Gaia, harsh and closed and unforgiving, and Ouranos, grinning, blissfully ignorant of the truth.<p>
<P>How had she let this happen? Sullenly, dramatically, Pan rolled over onto her side-and her breath escaped in a gasp, her stomach contracting in a sudden pain, much like before but stronger. More persistent.<p>
<p>"Oh," she breathed in, unable to manage anything more as she stumbled to her feet. Suddenly, her whole body trembled with heat. She tried helplessly to shut the window, but she could hardly manage even to lift her arms-arms which she had worked at in quidditch until they were toned and strong.<p>
<p>Her breath choked off in her throat as the pain came again, increasing steadily, cutting and sharp. She made it to the bathroom, determined to walk and not to crawl, shaking and shivering and fighting for every sweet gasp of air. She grabbed at the door knob, fumbled with the knob. The fact that the world swam dizzily before her eyes, the awful, unbelievable pain in her gut the equivalent of all of her years of womanly bleedings, and the sweat that slicked her palms made it nearly impossible to turn. Finally, inexplicably, she managed to shove down the door, where she fell upon the threshold and the wood snapped back against the wall behind it with an audible crack; it was a wonder no one had woken, yet they all slept on peacefully.<p>
<p>Pandora was in turmoil. On the floor and on her back now, she kicked the door shut with a foot and dragged herself to the toilet, whereupon she vomited copiously. Pan, who had rarely ever seen a day of sickness in her life and had always been healthier than anyone could dare to wish, had done so only once before, when she had caught spattergroit as a small child; that, though, could not compare to the agony she felt now. It was as though with each time she wretched, an invisible knife drove deeper and deeper into her gut, punishing her mercilessly.<p>
<p>Her hair was slick with sweat, that she knew, but when she found the energy to glance feebly down at herself, she saw something doubly more startling-her worn old nightgown was sticky with red.<p>
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