July 1st, 1891 — Mulciber Home, Wellingtonshire

"MA - MA!"

The strangled, high-pitched wail echoed through the Mulciber household, but Flora would not have cared if she'd woken half the neighborhood. She was dying, clearly, and with the amount of blood present on her bedsheet it would only be a matter of time before she dropped to the floor unconscious.

She clutched her pillow against her stomach, expecting at any moment to be overcome with some unbearable pain, and who better to have with her in her final moments of death than her Mama? She frantically glanced around the room, first to the door and then to her desk. Perhaps she should pen a letter to everyone she loved. Nothing long, she told herself, but something. Short notes to her closest relatives, something for Rex and Sirius, and even Hesper. She wanted to be the one to let everyone know she had perished, rather than her poor Mama.

She might have begun to write them, too, if she'd had another moment; but before she could take a step in the direction of her desk, her bedroom door swung open.

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Rufina Mulciber

  

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Had she not already been awake—Rufina had long been an early riser, though not an early get-out-of-bed-er—she might have missed her daughter's cries for help. It was, however, but the word of a moment to tear the coverlet from herself and make her way swiftly down the corridor clad only in her nightdress, mind frantically playing upon all the horrors that might have befallen Flora. Was there a vagabond in the house? Had Ernest managed to regain his legs only to fall to his death before their daughter's eyes? Had a ghost taken up residence in Flora's trunk and begun doing all manner of lewd things?

She did not knock before entering, eyes wide.

"Flora darling!" Rufina exclaimed. "Whatever has happened?!"

Only when the words left her was she able to take in the scene properly. The bed was rumpled, but the room otherwise looked the picture of peace and order—or it might have, were it not for the wild, panicked expression on her daughter's face, stood in the middle of it.

  

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It was Mama. She could hold back her tears no longer.

"Mama, look," she sobbed, pointing a finger to her stained bedsheet. She wanted to hug her mother, but she could feel the wetness on her backside and just knew that if she moved she would speed up the process of her death.

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She had, Rufina realized in that moment, overlooked something terribly important—not in the moment, but rather, in the years prior. Perhaps she had assumed the governess would address that particular education (as hers had done) or that the Hogwarts matrons would take on that burden; perhaps she was merely so used to her cycle that it never truly occurred to Rufina that her daughter would not innately know it. As her gaze drifted from Flora to the bloody patch upon the bed, though, Rufina knew with certainty that she had erred, and guilt began to chew at her.

"Oh my darling," Rufina exhaled, moving to embrace her daughter both as a form of comfort and to hide the faint blush upon her cheeks. Forewarned, after all, was forearmed, but the socialite had left her daughter to fight in the wars with little more than a teaspoon. "You mustn't worry," she directed after a moment, moving so that she might look Flora in the eyes, "for while it looks quite wild, it is altogether natural."

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   Flora Mulciber

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Flora wrapped her arms around her mother's torso, comforted (but not entirely relieved) by her mother's embrace and soft tone. How could Mama be so calm when she was bleeding? She'd read enough novels to know women bled to death on their birthing beds even if she did not know the specifics, so her only association with bleeding from that end of her body was death.

But then Mama said it was natural, and her world changed in an instant. "What do you mean?" she hiccupped, pulling back just enough to look her Mama in the eye. Her expression mirrored her mothers, complete with the pink-tinted cheeks. "No other girls I know are regularly.... covering their seats with blood."

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"And nor shall you be," Rufina answered confidently, "once I have remedied my errors."

Such a remedy, though, ought to wait until Flora looked a bit less like a victim of violent crime.

"Change into something clean—and dark, for now—and meet me in my sitting room, yes? I shall have tea brought up and explain all."

  

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She could hardly believe any of this was her Mama's fault; it was not as if she'd put a spell on her to begin bleeding profusely in her sleep. It was simply not something her mother was capable of, morally and probably magically.

"Of course," she agreed, still frowning as she pulled away.

Her Mama left, and fetching her wand from her nightstand to serve as a light in the night, Flora found and put on the only dark nightgown in her drawers, and even then it was a deep blue. She balled up her nightdress and wrapped it in her top sheet, which she discarded on the floor next to her door as she headed out into the hallway.

"Mama?" she called out quietly as she peeked into the sitting room.

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The tea arrived, ported by a rather sleepy looking scullery maid, just before Flora; Rufina had enough time to pour a cup for each before her daughter sat down.

"Yes darling, do drink the tea. It's made from raspberry leaves," she explained, "and should ease any physical discomfort."

  

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Raspberry leaf tea for discomfort—it was nothing she'd learned from her governess, nor in any Herbology or etiquette class (was there meant to be a subject that covered this topic? Or was this a piece of knowledge that was passed down from mother to daughter over generations?).

Trusting her mother, Flora brought the cup to her mouth and sipped from it, all the while watching her with nervous eyes.

"Should I expect pain?" she asked gloomily, wondering if she had not been too far off in her initial evaluation of the pain. Even if she was not dying, it would be no more comforting to hear that she might feel like she was.

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In lieu of answer, Rufina took a sip from her own teacup, gathering her thoughts before she spoke again. She had already done Flora disservice by not saying anything on the topic; in remedying this, Rufina should hate to leave out anything prudent.

"You see, my dear," Rufina began, setting aside her tea for the moment, "the bleeding, however grotesque, is a herald of your blossoming womanhood. Perhaps you have heard your classmates tell of their cycles or their monthlies? Regardless, it is a sign that your body is ripe for motherhood—although I do hope you'll wait a number of years to put that particular readiness to the test!"

  

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It was a lot of information to take in all at once, however brief the explanation seemed.

Her blood was... related to womanhood? And she had her of some of the older girls speaking of their cycles, but the specific wording her mother used—monthlies—caused her eyes to widen. Surely she would not suffer this every month?

That was not even the worst part. Motherhood? At her age? Surely there had to be some mistake, because from her estimation most women did not begin bearing children until they were nearly twenty and already married!

"I do hope so, too," she said, visibly started by the revelation, "Surely my body will not decide to grow a child on its own just as it decided to make me bleed?"

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"Oh, no!" she hastened to reassure her daughter. "Indeed, children are a blessing bestowed upon husband and wife, rather than something that spring forth of their own accord..

  

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The color in Flora's cheeks deepened, and for a moment the muscles in her face were pulled too tightly into an embarrassed smile for her to be able to manage a single word. She took a sip of her tea, wondering offhandedly if it would cure her of that discomfort.

"A number of years, then," she agreed. It would be four more years until she debuted, and likely another until she was married, so she and Mama would not have to worry about that. But then... "Mama, do you mean to tell me I'll have to deal with this until I get married? I cannot just—bleed. People at school will tease me!" And she didn't want to even to think about how she'd explain it all to Rex or Sirius if they happened upon her in such a messy state!

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Casting her daughter a wry smile, Rufina answered—reassuringly, she hoped, "My darling, your female classmates do this each and every month, once they come of age in that regard. I shall have the maids leave for you a—" here, her own cheeks began to colour slightly
"—a menstrual belt and some cloth pads you might use to staunch the bleeding. They are simply laundered just like everything else you wear."

  

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Despite her Mama's best efforts to prevent it, Flora found herself growing more anxious with each passing second. "And you mean to say I will continue with my daily activities while... bleeding?" What sort of joke from the universe was this? How was she supposed to go shopping—or worse, go to class—in such discomfort?

"Oh Mama, I won't be able to face my friends for weeks." Even the female ones, because if talking to Mama was this awkward she could only imagine how terrible this conversation would be with a bunch of girls her age!

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"Merlin's beard, you needn't tell anyone!" Rufina exclaimed, mortified at the very thought. She had told her own mother, of course, but even amongst her sisters, it had merely been a thing they assumed to have happen, rather than something they shouted from the rooftops.

"I won't say it isn't a burden, but it will not make you any less able to cast charms or do embroidery, or even see your friends." At least, not once Flora had had time to adjust to this new stage in her life. Rufina knew her daughter was a clever and resilient girl; she had every faith the adjustment would be admirable.

  

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