The Cry

Rain had been falling over the Marquis estate since sunset.

It came down in long, silver sheets, washing over the black roofs and stone walls until the entire manor seemed to disappear behind a curtain of water. Thunder rolled somewhere beyond the hills, deep enough to make the wooden doors tremble in their frames.

Inside, however, the manor was alive.

Servants hurried through the corridors carrying fresh towels, bowls of warm water, candles, and anything else the midwives demanded.

Tonight was supposed to be a night of celebration.

The Marquis's wife was giving birth.

Another child would soon belong to House Halton.

And everyone expected the child to be perfect.

Not because anyone had said so aloud.

It simply went without saying.

House Halton had spent generations building its reputation among the nobility. Their lands were prosperous, their bloodline old, and their name carried weight in the royal court.

Their first daughter, Camy, had only strengthened that reputation.

She was beautiful.

Everyone agreed.

Even as a child, people had stopped to admire her.

Her pale skin, delicate features, bright eyes, and graceful manner had made her the subject of endless compliments whenever the family attended noble gatherings.

Suitors had already begun appearing.

Letters arrived from other noble houses.

Some were invitations.

Others were inquiries.

And behind closed doors, marriage proposals had already begun to circulate.

So when Marquis Halton was told that his wife had gone into labor, one thought occupied his mind.

Another healthy child.

Perhaps another daughter.

Perhaps another beautiful daughter.

A second jewel for House Halton.

Halton stood outside the birthing chamber with his hands clasped behind his back.

He was a tall man with dark hair beginning to gray at the temples. His formal coat was still immaculate despite the late hour, though the crease between his eyebrows had deepened considerably.

A servant approached.

“My lord.”

Halton looked at him.

“Yes?”

“The midwife says the birth is progressing normally.”

Halton nodded.

“Good.”

The servant hesitated.

“My lord... Lady Camy has been asking whether the baby has arrived.”

A faint smile appeared on Halton's face.

“Tell her that she will be informed when it is over.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The servant bowed and hurried away.

Halton looked toward the closed doors.

Behind them, his wife cried out again.

His expression tightened.

Then he heard something else.

A faint sound.

Not a cry.

A creaking sound.

Halton glanced toward the windows.

The candle flames along the corridor flickered.

He frowned.

Another tremor ran through the glass.

Rattle.

He stared at the nearest window.

The rain continued to hammer against it.

Perhaps it was only the storm.

Then the birthing chamber fell completely silent.

Halton straightened.

No crying.

No midwife giving instructions.

Nothing.

His hand moved toward the door.

“What's happening?”

There was no answer.

He reached for the handle.

Then—

A sound came from inside.

A newborn's cry.

Halton froze.

It was loud.

Far too loud.

The sound seemed to fill the entire corridor.

Every candle flame bent at once.

The windows began vibrating.

A servant screamed.

“What's happening?!”

The cry continued.

It wasn't simply loud.

There was something strange about it.

Something that seemed to press against the body itself.

Halton felt the sound in his chest.

His teeth seemed to vibrate.

The glass in the windows shook violently.

Then—

CRACK!

Every window along the corridor shattered.

Glass exploded inward.

Servants dropped to the floor.

Someone shouted.

Someone else began praying.

Halton stood perfectly still.

Rain poured through the broken windows.

For several seconds, nobody moved.

Then the crying stopped.

Silence returned.

Halton stared at the birthing chamber.

His face had gone pale.

Slowly, the door opened.

The midwife stood there.

She was breathing heavily.

Her hands were trembling.

“My lord...”

Halton looked past her.

His wife lay exhausted upon the bed.

And in the midwife's arms was the newborn.

A tiny girl.

Halton's eyes moved immediately to her face.

Her eyes were closed.

Her upper face was beautiful.

Strangely beautiful.

There was something familiar about it.

Something that reminded him of Camy.

For one brief moment, relief washed over him.

She looks like her sister.

Then the baby opened her eyes.

Halton stopped breathing.

They were dark.

Not unnatural.

Not monstrous.

Just dark, watchful eyes.

The baby looked around the room.

The midwife swallowed.

“She is healthy,” she whispered.

Halton didn't answer.

His eyes remained fixed on the child.

“Let me see her.”

The midwife hesitated.

Then she carefully placed the newborn into his arms.

She was incredibly small.

Warm.

Fragile.

Halton stared down at her.

His daughter.

His second daughter.

For a moment, nothing else mattered.

Then the baby yawned.

Her tiny mouth opened.

Halton's expression changed.

The mouth was wider than it should have been.

Not impossibly so.

But enough.

The lips extended farther across her face than a newborn's normally would.

And when she opened her mouth again, Halton saw them.

Teeth.

Tiny.

Sharp.

Irregular.

Like little points arranged along her gums.

The midwife turned pale.

Halton slowly lifted his eyes toward her.

“What...”

The word barely left his mouth.

The baby began to cry again.

Halton instinctively pulled her closer.

“Wait—”

The midwife stepped backward.

The newborn's cry rose.

The room trembled.

A nearby glass bottle cracked.

Halton's eyes widened.

“Stop!”

The word escaped him before he could think.

The baby stopped.

Instantly.

Halton stared at her.

The room was silent.

The midwife looked at him.

His wife looked at him.

Even the rain seemed distant.

Halton's heart hammered against his ribs.

The baby opened her eyes again.

She looked directly at him.

And for one impossible moment, Halton felt as though she understood him.

Not recognized him.

Understood him.

His arms tightened around her.

“What are you?”

The midwife's face drained of color.

“My lord...”

Halton looked at her.

She lowered her voice.

“That wasn't a normal cry.”

“I know.”

“No newborn should be able to do that.”

“I know.”

The woman looked toward the shattered windows.

Then back at the child.

“Perhaps we should send for—”

“No.”

Halton's voice was immediate.

The midwife stopped.

“No one leaves this room.”

“My lord?”

“You heard me.”

His wife slowly turned her head toward him.

“Halton...”

He looked at her.

She was exhausted, frightened, and barely able to keep her eyes open.

“What is wrong with her?”

Halton didn't answer.

He looked down at the child again.

The little girl had stopped crying.

She was simply staring at him.

Small.

Quiet.

Beautiful above the mouth.

Terrifying beneath it.

His wife whispered,

“Is she...”

Halton's jaw tightened.

“She's our daughter.”

His wife stared at him.

The words sounded more like a command than reassurance.

Outside the room, servants whispered.

The sound of breaking glass had already spread through the manor.

Someone would talk.

Someone always talked.

Halton knew that.

By morning, the entire household could know.

By tomorrow evening, perhaps the neighboring estates.

And if the rumors reached the royal court...

He looked at the child again.

Her strange little mouth opened.

One tiny tooth showed.

Halton felt a chill move through him.

He remembered something.

A story his grandfather had once told him when he was a boy.

A story that had frightened him so badly that he had refused to sleep alone for several nights.

He had thought it was nothing more than an old noble superstition.

A warning about a bloodline.

A child born with a voice that could make others obey.

A child whose first cry could break more than glass.

A child whose mouth was called—

Halton's thoughts stopped.

No.

Impossible.

That story was centuries old.

It couldn't be her.

It couldn't.

The baby shifted in his arms.

Halton looked down.

She was staring at him again.

For the first time in his life, Marquis Halton felt afraid of a newborn child.

Not because she was ugly.

Not because she looked strange.

But because something inside him had begun whispering a question he desperately didn't want answered.

What if the stories were true?

The baby made a small sound.

Halton instinctively held his breath.

But she didn't cry.

She simply closed her eyes.

And fell asleep.

Halton stood there in silence.

The storm continued outside.

Rain ran through the broken windows.

The candles flickered.

And somewhere deep within the ancient bloodline of House Halton, something that had been silent for generations had finally awakened.

Nobody in the room knew it yet.

But the night Shelly was born—

the world had already begun to change.