The brisk air carried the soft scent of late winter blooms as Benevolence adjusted the bonnet tied neatly beneath her chin. It was a subtle, cold scent that only a few would notice - people like her most likely. She had risen earlier than usual to oversee the arrival of a rare shipment of exotic plants at her greenhouse, normally the head gardener would take receipt but with so little time left between now and her laying in, she wanted to make the most of it.

While her personal greenhouse at the house was her pride and joy, a sanctuary of vibrant life that she had cultivated with painstaking care, but the one at the shop could at least be attended by people other than her. The plants had arrived, and been dutifully stored, but now, the errand was done, and she found herself navigating the bustling High Street with a basket of floral cuttings balanced on one arm and a parasol on the other. It had been weeks since she’d felt truly well. The morning sickness that had plagued her during her first trimester lingered cruelly even now, at 28 weeks. She had brushed it off, of course—there was work to be done, always work to be done - or at least something she could find that needed to be done.

The ground beneath her boots seemed to ripple, as though she were walking on the surface of a pond. Her breaths came shallow, her vision edged with a fuzziness that threatened to engulf her entirely. She paused, leaning briefly against the brick wall, hoping the spinning would cease.

It did not.

A murmur of concern rose from the few passersby who noticed her unsteady stance, her pale complexion stark against the jet-black of her hair. She opened her mouth to reassure them, to insist she was fine—but the words never came. The basket slipped from her arm, scattering petals and stems across the cobblestones, and Benevolence crumpled to the ground in a heap of skirts and lace.


(Can pick up here or at hospital/clinic)