Daimon-tokos

Grr laughed with amusement as I asked to touch Larissa’s belly, to feel the life growing within her. She assented with a smile, and as I touched her I felt within Larissa the singleness of heart and purpose given to one only. She is not, I think, a woman who fragments her heart or splits her loyalties. The sadness of her misplaced affection washed over me. But the little one inside . . . this baby growing more quickly than humanly possible in her womb . . . strong, mischievous, and different somehow--I saw her borne with blood and grief: a child, yet not a child. How can this be?