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11-year-old Feyre Archeron woke up in the middle of the night in pain.
Suddenly, she felt…wet.
Oh, no! She hadn’t wet the bed in years…even though she shared a bed with her more understanding sister, 13-year-old Elain, it was still embarrassing.
Feyre threw off the covers and noticed, even in the dark, through the moonlight shining through the window, the dark spot on the front of her nightgown.
Quickly, she rushed to the bathing room down the hall.
Blood. Had she gotten hurt in her sleep? Her stomach hurt, but nothing else did.
It wasn’t stopping, though.
Feyre started the bathtub and hopped in, nightgown, bloomers and all.
It…seemed to stop?
But as Feyre got out, she realized it was still happening.
Now she was in full-on panic mode.
And then…as if things couldn’t get any worse.
There was a knock at the door.
“Who’s in there?” An irritated voice asked. “Who on Earth was taking a bath at 3 in the morning?”
Oh no.
It was her eldest sister - 14-year-old Nesta.
Nesta was much closer to Elain than she was to Feyre; in fact, the two were often at each other’s throats.
“Umm…it’s me, Nesta,” Feyre said quietly.
“Well finish up! I need to go!” Nesta snapped.
Feyre drained the tub, then opened the door.
“I’m sorry, Nesta,” Feyre said.
Nesta’s eyes narrowed.
“Why were you taking a bath?” Nesta asked. Her face seemed to relax, though, when she saw her youngest sister’s facial expression.
“I think I’m dying, Nesta,” Feyre said, voice shaking.
“What?”
Feyre looked down at her nightgown.
“It just won’t stop.”
For the first time, Nesta noted Feyre’s stain.
“Oh,” Nesta said. She said it so calmly, as though she knew something Feyre didn’t.
“I’m bleeding to death and all you can say is ‘oh?’” Feyre said, voice shaking.
“You’re not dying,” Nesta said, putting a hand on her sister’s shoulder.
Feyre looked down at that hand…could she recall a time where Nesta had been…comforting?
“Then what’s happening?” Feyre asked.
Nesta shifted uncomfortably.
“Stay here - I’m going to use the bathing room by Father’s room but I’ll be back.”
Nesta rushed off.
She was gone for quite a bit, and Feyre wondered if she’d been bamboozled.
But then Nesta returned with a new nightgown, pair of bloomers, and a small rag of some sort.
“You can put this in your bloomers. Get dressed and meet me in my bedroom so we don’t wake Elain,” Nesta said with a yawn.
Feyre took the clothing.
“Thank you,” Feyre mumbled. Nesta left, Feyre got dressed and left the old nightgown and bloomers in a pile near the toilet. She’d take care of that later.
Feyre padded down the hall to Nesta’s room. Nesta had left her door open, and Feyre could see her sister sitting up on the edge of her bed.
“Come sit,” Nesta patted the spot next to her.
Feyre wordlessly obeyed.
“Like I said, you aren’t dying…this happened to me, it happened to Elain - it happened to Mother when she was a girl,” Nesta said.
“What is it?” Feyre asked.
“You’re having your cycle. It will happen every month for…a while.”
“Every month?!” Feyre forgot her father and Elain were sleeping.
“Every month?” She whispered.
“Not forever…but for quite some time,” Nesta said. “All Mother was able to tell me before she…passed…was that it means we will be able to have babies one day. She said she’d tell me the rest when I got engaged someday,” Nesta’s voice broke and Feyre, without thinking, put a hand on her sister’s.
Nesta was the only one of Mrs. Archeron’s daughters that the woman seemed to care about.
Nesta didn’t pull away, surprisingly.
“It’ll probably last anywhere from three days to a week each month,” Nesta said. “Hot baths can help with stomach pain. Ginger tea, too. And you should change out the rags every so often - we have a whole cabinet of them, Elain and me. I’ll show you tomorrow.”
Feyre didn’t know what to say. Nesta - the sister who sometimes looked at Feyre as though she wanted to kill her; who had made Feyre cry sometimes with the things she said.
Nesta was being compassionate and kind.
Feyre groaned and laid back on Nesta’s bed.
“I can’t just…make it go away?”
Nesta laughed.
“Unfortunately, no.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Well…thank you, Nesta,” Feyre said. “For telling me.”
Nesta reached out and squeezed her sister’s hand.
“You’re welcome. I’m…glad I could help.”
Nesta’s window was ajar, and a loud gust of wind startled her. She got up to close it.
“You should go back to bed, Feyre,” Nesta said, closing the window.
This was met with nothing but a soft snore.
Nesta sighed but smiled slightly.
She got Feyre settled into bed and pulled the quilt over her before getting into the other side.
“Good night, Feyre,” Nesta said, before turning over and drifting off to sleep herself.