_
The incense burns too strong in the small inner pavilion, thick and cloying, clinging to Eleanor's throat until every breath feels forced.
She sits stiffly on the cushioned bench, one hand resting unconsciously over her lower abdomen.
Beneath the layers of silk, the swell of her stomach is evident.
The dull ache in her back and the faint nausea that has followed her since morning give exhaustion to her bones faster than it should.
Her eyes light up as she sees the woman who met her in the temple approach the pavilion with a small bag in her hand, and Eleanor gets up to her feet.
Unlike her anxious self, the woman looks rather calm, and Eleanor furrows her brow with displeasure.
"Anna," Eleanor calls lowly as she lowers herself to a seat in front of her.
Anna brings out the tea in her hand and starts to prepare it using the cups she brought with her.
The ring catches the light when she tilts the cup, gold carved with a strange sigil, ancient and unfamiliar.
