**24 years ago**
The smell of green tea filled a shack. The grassy aroma of dried tea leaves, mingled with the musty scent of aged wood, drifted through the air.
The shack was filled with herbs, and tallow candles lit up the inside. A central wooden table, stained from years of use, stood in the middle. Aside from the green tea, the scent of dried herbs and woodsmoke mixed with lavender was prevalent. Spiderwebs clung to corners, and the floor was scattered with straw and loose herbs. It looked like a medicine shack—especially with the cork bottles and glass vials lined up along the shelves.
A man in a long, dark-colored robe with a white collar and cuffs sat cross-legged at the far end of the shack. A topped walking stick lay beside him. He held a cup of green tea—the source of that calming aroma.
The man was in a state of tranquility, sipping ever so slightly as a show of quiet reverence. It was as if disturbing the tea would disturb the fragrance it carried.
KNOCK!!
KNOCK!!
KNOCK!!
Three consecutive knocks banged on the door of the shack. Hearing this, the man frowned.
He was a well-known physician and apothecary. Few people were both, but he, on the other hand, managed to juggle the two roles with ease. Thus, he gained a notable amount of fame and affluence around these parts.
Despite that, he rarely accepted patients. He preferred to treat only those to whom he owed favors—or those he had a strong liking for. To distinguish those people from others, he gave each of them a special knock sequence to use at his door.
The man stood up, placed his green tea on the center table, and picked up his topped walking stick. Looking through the peephole in the door, he frowned even harder.
He opened the door with haste. The guest rushed in immediately.
With furrowed brows and a dire look on his face, the physician asked, "Is it time?"
The guest, a plump man in somewhat subpar clothing, nodded.
The man took a deep breath. He inhaled. Exhaled.
He stepped out with the guest and made his way toward a house a short distance from the shack. He didn't bring any tools—he only wanted to examine the patient first.
---
He arrived at the residence. The first thing he saw was a woman lying on the floor. Her large, bulging stomach showed she was heavily pregnant and ready to deliver.
Upon closer inspection, the physician furrowed his brows even further. This was a rare case of what we now call Cephalopelvic Disproportion—or in simpler terms, obstructed labour.
The woman's hips were too narrow. Feeling around, he confirmed the baby was also too large. A normal birth would not be plausible. But he began to work out a possible solution. If he could somehow conjure up something to expand the mother's hips, then maybe it could work.
That was his initial thought. But after further inspection, he realized it wouldn't help either. The baby was in a breech (feet-first) position and already beginning to emerge. What he had in mind wouldn't help matters.
He was truly perplexed. Even if he managed to solve both of those problems, the mother was too weak. It was as if something had drained her life force. She simply didn't have the strength to bring the child into the world.
He thought long and hard, trying to work out a solution—but to no avail. He turned to the plump man who had come with hope in his eyes. But upon seeing the physician's expression, that hope faded. The physician shook his head, and that was enough for the man to know something was terribly wrong.
The physician explained the situation. The only solution was surgery.
"Master Carson, I will need your consent before I can move any further. Just know that there's a high chance for your wife to die if we proceed," the physician said, his tone grave.
The plump man's face was full of emotion—not excitement or joy, but pain, heartache... sorrow.
Tears streamed down from his eyes to his cheeks as the weight of the physician's words sank in.
"If you don't want to carry on with it, we can abort the baby. Though it may cause some damage, there's still a high chance your wife will survive. But your baby—"
"D-Do... it..." a feeble voice escaped the woman's mouth.
"But—but May... t-this... y-you..." the man's voice shook, tears still trickling as he grabbed May's hand.
"I know... but our baby comes first. Make sure you tell her how much I love her—and how much I wanted to be there for her." Tears began to fall from May's eyes.
"Don't talk like that!! It's all my fault! If only I hadn't gotten you pregnant—if only..." He clenched his other hand, nails digging into his palm.
"It's not your fault. I wanted to be a mother as much as I wanted to be a parent alongside you. But I guess my wishes were futile. I really wish I could see her—watch her grow. Talk to her about her day and her thoughts... I feel so much sorrow knowing I won't be there for her." She stared up at the roof as if trying to see through it, longing for a glimpse of the sky.
"Please make your decision, before they both die," the physician urged.
"Fine... tell me this... will the pain be..." the man's voice trailed off.
"I'm afraid the pain will be excruciating. To be frank, what awaits your wife is a long, painful, and sorrowful birth. I, too, am perplexed... but there is no time left for delay." The physician pulled out some herbs and fed them to the wife to ease her pain as much as possible. But it would still be excruciating.
The physician began to perform what we now know as a Caesarean operation—using crude tools and blades, with no anesthesia.
ARGHHHHHH!!!
The plump man waited outside the room. His body trembled as he heard the scream of his beloved wife.
---
"Waaa!!!"
After a while, the sound of a baby's cry echoed through the house.
The plump man rushed into the room—but stopped dead in his tracks.
His breath caught. His eyes widened. His mouth dropped open.
He stood before a bloody scene. The mother's belly was split open. The baby, bloodied, was in the physician's hands.
The man ran forward and threw himself in front of his dying wife, tears pouring like waterworks. He held her hand tightly.
"May. May. MAY!!! Don't go. Don't ******* GO!!! What is life without you? What is tomorrow without you?" he wailed in sorrow. He turned to the physician and crawled over, gripping his heel.
"Aren't you a physician? AREN'T YOU THE GREAT APOTHECARY?!!! SAVE HER!! Save h-her!" His words turned into broken sobs.
The physician, still holding the baby, looked at the plump man with pity. But there was nothing more he could do. One wrong move, and both mother and child would have died. The chance of saving her had been next to none.
"B-Boy or g-girl..." a weak voice left the nearly lifeless woman.
The man's eyes lit up with a final spark. He rushed back to her side.
"Girl," the physician answered, slightly shocked the woman could still speak through such agony. But he knew it wouldn't matter. Her end was near. He worried not for her life now—but for the sorrow she bore in her final moments.
"F-Florisha... that's her name... Florisha..."
And with that, she passed—leaving the man wailing, begging her to come back.
The physician stared at the baby in his hands. And for a split moment... his heart skipped a beat.
She was... smiling.