- Messages
- 525
Business as usual. Ylva was heading towards the location that she had tracked James Dalton down to, and by the look of his approaching house he was doing quite well for himself. She had no idea whether he had a wife or any other children, and nor did she care. It was time to deliver Araxfell to his doorstep. Ylva had been in hopes of having a girl and therefore eliminate the need to have any more children. However, fate had dealt her an irritating hand that she had to contend with. There was no question of her keeping Araxfell alive, though. To terminate her own son simply because of his gender was a medieval practice and counterproductive. After all the effort she had gone through to produce the useless lump, only to discard him like yesterday's newspaper? No; the boy was a pureblood and shared half of her own blood. It was a waste of life. If there was one thing that Ylva detested, it was wastefulness. Who knew; Araxfell might prove himself worthy in the future and more useful than he was now. She may as well leave him somewhere where he might be cared for. Then again, the Dalton man seemed quite deranged. So as Ylva waved the door open calmly, her aim remained to inspect the living circumstances of the man she had shared intimacy with and hopefully unload the child into his no-doubt unwilling hands.
It seemed that she was anticipated by someone, though. A small, thin boy in a wheelchair greeted her at the open door which Ylva had opened unannounced, and stared up at her with clear blue eyes and a nervous look. He was rather sweet-faced and frail, and she wondered whose child it was. The boy looked nothing like the Dalton man. It was the sandy hair and the wide, innocent eyes that made the difference in features so pronounced. "Who are you, boy?" she asked coldly, displeased at being hindered.
It seemed that she was anticipated by someone, though. A small, thin boy in a wheelchair greeted her at the open door which Ylva had opened unannounced, and stared up at her with clear blue eyes and a nervous look. He was rather sweet-faced and frail, and she wondered whose child it was. The boy looked nothing like the Dalton man. It was the sandy hair and the wide, innocent eyes that made the difference in features so pronounced. "Who are you, boy?" she asked coldly, displeased at being hindered.