I readjusted Benu so he could chew on my necklace, G’wala listening to me as I divulged everything that had happened since I woke up in Noa’s bed. “I don’t know what to do.” I let out a heavy breath. “As…As much as I hate Noa, I understand I’m in a more privileged position than most other women.” And it was true, women seemed to be treated as commodities to be bought and sold. At least I was a nobleman’s, the price set upon my head was too great for just anyone to buy me.

G’wala was quiet for a while, nose wiggling as I assumed he formed his thoughts. “The temple would buy you from him, if you would act as their Washi’ima,” he said. The heaviest but pushed my feet into the floor, and I braced myself for the word to be spoken. “But they won’t pay for women with child.” His face grew tight when I asked if they would when Benu was weaned. “No, I mean you’re…pr…pre-guh-nant.”  I didn’t need to understand him perfectly to know what word he had struggled with mimicking. I slumped to the floor, wanting to bang my head against the wall until my brain bled, or dig out my womb with my bare hands. For what felt like the first time ever, I put Benu down while I was awake. He toddled back to me, trying to climb back in my embrace. “Will you be okay, vii’ta?”

I squeezed my skirts, brushing Benu away. I could feel the depression take hold once more, sinking me deeper into the stone floor. The urge to give up, to go catatonic, overwhelmed anything else. I still had poison left, I could kill the fetus while I killed myself. “No,” I said, pushing any and all emotion deep down. “I didn’t want Benu. I don’t want Noa’s children. I don’t want anyone’s children.”

He knelt on the floor in front of me, Benu still attempting to get in my lap in a fear induced hurry. I didn’t stop him, the act of moving my arm to push him away was becoming too bothersome. “Be upset,” he said. “It’s okay to be. Blessings from the gods are always complicated and twofold.”

I sucked air in through my teeth. Benu settled himself in my lap, biting his hands. “This isn’t a blessing.” I hit the back of my head against the sandstone wall. “I never saw this as anything but God laughing in my face, G’wala. It’s not normal where I come from. I wanted to be normal so bad. I wanted to be and became a man.”

“Be that as it may,” he held his hand out for me, “it’s much different here. No one will find you abnormal.”

I was about to take his hand when the door banged open, just barely missing G’wala’s back in the tight space. Noa walked through the threshold, face red, clothing hastily put on. Benu hurried over to him and G’wala stood. He eyed the two of us, assessing my state of dress and emotions. I set my jaw and crossed my arms. Maybe I should have slept with G’wala, just to spite him. The only thing stopping me from doing so wasn’t lack of attraction to him, but the fear that if Noa found out, the one man I had met who had been marginally nice to me would be killed or arrested, or something else entirely terrible. He picked up his son, ears straight up, “Sae, we’re going.”

“Make me,” I said without a second thought. Unlike in the village, I had something to hide behind: I was the mother of two of his children, now. I settled in my position, letting my body go limp as he stalked forward. I might as well give him some trouble for having to drag me out like a sack of potatoes. I was daring him to raise a hand against me, G’wala may be deaf, but he wasn’t blind or mute. I doubted he would silently sow distrust against Noa, nevertheless, it was a comforting thought. I kept my eyes on Noa, not wanting to allow him to see the notion that G’wala was anything to me. Even deeming him a friend felt too sacrilegious in a society that almost never let men into the women’s quarters.

His hand hovered over my hair, and I waited for him to grab it, instead he set it on my head. “What are you hoping to achieve?” His voice was low, any vibrations were too soft for G’wala to pick up. It didn’t matter if G’wala stayed to bear witness, he would only be able to measure body language. “If it’s to anger me, you’ve done a wonderful job.” He crouched, his hand moving from my head to grasp my wrist, Benu mimicking him.

I didn’t answer, and he laughed at his own conclusions. “Paa Noa, Vai, if I may?” Noa stopped, turning to G’wala. “I have seen this before in new mothers,” he was speaking slowly with his hands, distracting Benu than aiding Noa’s comprehension. “Vii’ta Sae doesn’t have the knowledge to care for children, or the support to learn. She is unable to bond.” He paused a moment, hands seeming to spell something. “Getting upset, Vai, will not help her emotions.”

I wanted to laugh as Noa removed his hand from my skin. It was coming back to me, the few weeks I spent on the maternity floor as an intern. Postpartum depression. It was at least part of whatever emotional issues I was having, if not the driving factor. It was only going to get worse, snowballing all through this new pregnancy. It didn’t deserve to die with me, but it was caught in the crossfire at this point, sacrifices would have to be made. I scratched my wrist, hoping my uncut nails would cut open the skin near my veins. It felt worse whenever Noa was near me. “I’ll take that into consideration.” He turned back to me, snatching my hand. “We’ll be going. Now.” He tugged my arm, achieving nothing in my ragdoll state. “Sae.”

“I’m not going,” I said.

He let out breath through his teeth. “This isn’t a discussion.”

“Until dinner.” From the corner of my eye I could see a small smile form on G’wala’s face. Noa’s, however, held a scowl. I shortened the time until he relented, letting me have until noon free from him and Benu. Once he left, G’wala held his hand to me, returning to our earlier conversation before Noa barged in. “You’re sure no one will find me abnormal?”

He nodded and I took his hand. “I’m certain.” He helped me to my feet. “What is it you’d like to do with your newfound, but limited, freedom?” G’wala’s hand lingered on mine, reluctant to let it go, and I didn’t let him. “Have you put any thought to being Washi’ima?” I asked what that would entail on my part. “Nothing too strenuous, nor dangerous as you’re new to the role.” He pushed strands of loose hair behind his shoulder. “You’ll drink tea brewed from lotus petals and kirikiri leaves, light an incense or two.”

“Isn’t kirikiri poisonous?” I asked, and he finally took back his hand.

“Yes,” he said. “The bulbs carry poison. The leaves, diluted and mixed with lotus petals, are nothing more than a hal…haloosingenicks substance.” I said the word slowly for him, his eyes closing as he listened to the vibrations. “Hallucinogenic. Thank you.” He tied his hair back, keeping his humanoid ears hidden. “Would you care to speak with Washi’imu and the Washi’ima that came before you, or would you prefer to do something else?”

While I doubted I would get to have an actual conversation with G’wala’s god, the thought of doing so was tempting. I had questions for Washi’imu, the first being why they brought me here when I would’ve been perfectly content to pick myself back up and start over for the nth time with another man. I drank the tea, G’wala standing in front of the door to the new room we were in. It was barely any bigger, able to fit a chair and a cot snugly. The tea was bitter, a slight shock to my system from memory of the sweet kirikiri poison Aya had given me. The addiction to it overcame any aversion to sugary tasting things I have.

It didn’t take long for my perception of things to warp. Bright colors bled from the muted wall, pooling at my feet into a mixture of inky black. G’wala appeared more animal than man, face and hands morphing into those of a black rabbit’s. I was sinking into the black paint at my feet, holding onto the chair for dear life as I the viscous liquid let go of me. I floated in the ether, dimly lit by twinkling stars, blurry images blinking past. Until I was face to face with myself, red bunny ears framing my face, heavy jewelry weighing me down. A bright smile on my face, my hand held securely by a tall, familiar man, black rabbit ears pulled back into a small ponytail. My face faltered as I was pulled by the belt to the side of a wolf, fangs bared to deter any defiance on the lover’s part.

I felt sick as the scene begun to become clearer in my mind. It wasn’t me, not exactly. Malawashi, my too kind doppelganger, wrenched from her love all for a bag of coins. “Why?” I asked her disappearing form. “Why go with Noa?”

“It was a sacrifice,” she said. “We needed the money for medicine.” She flickered out, reappearing in a different scene, a forced smile plastered on her face. “He treated me kindly, Sae. As kind as he could.” Bells reverberated throughout my head, an eerily familiar wedding flooded my vision. “He is misguided, not evil. I gave him a chance. I would’ve given him countless, if not for…” I wanted to vomit at the hazy past before me. Malawashi crying, defeated, forced into submission as Aya watched from the shadows as her plan unfolded. The idea that a tiny rabbit could survive birthing a calf sprung to my head as something absurd. If the kirikiri hadn’t killed her, childbirth would’ve.

Have faith in Washi’imu, the words bounced around my skull as the past played in reverse. You have a purpose. I felt warm hands cup my cheeks. Washi’imu works in mystery, but the truth is always revealed. I was sucked back up through the puddle, just long enough to blink before the air was taken from my lungs. My body melted against the chair, turning into a puddle of flesh and cloth, nothing more than a piece of meat that could be bought and sold. A treat a rabbit and wolf were both chasing after to fulfill their own desires. Washi’imu worked in mysterious ways, indeed, at least with Noa and G’wala there was a sense of predictability with them. I would rather place myself in the role of G’wala’s Malawashi than Noa’s. He had yet to violate me, a low bar for this society, but a bar, nonetheless.

The cry of an infant shook the room, the despair I felt melting me further into the chair, dripping through the cracks in the wood. I now understood how that little egg felt I saw on social media and t-shirts. The thought of leaving my puddle was too difficult to even think. As a puddle, I had no responsibility, I could stay here, leaking through the chair until there was nothing left of me. Drip into the mixing of the colors, leave the world and skip into eternity with Malawashi and punch Washi’imu. But I was being remolded by gigantic hands, unable to fight the feeling of coming back into my form. I hoped, for my own sake, Malawashi would take my body, and my life.