In any given individual's life, there are numerous scenarios that repeat themselves time and time again, allowing the person to change their actions and rewrite events. People reminisce about things, and constantly talk about wishing they'd done things different. When scenarios repeat themselves, people are given a chance to do things differently â€" to redeem whatever they'd done that they wish they hadn't. If they're smart, that is. Instead of trying to do something different, sometimes people repeat their mistakes again and again and wonder why the circle of life has been so cruel. While I'd like to scoff at those people, surely I'd be a hypocrite if I did so; and if I'm being honest, I do it far more often than I'd like to admit. With that being said, most of those mistakes and scenarios were played out on the very soil this house was built on. Africa was home to my 'would bes' and 'ifs'.

Regrettably this situation in particular was one that had arisen multiple times for me. The characters changed typically â€" maybe it was my sister, or a friend, or a lover â€" but the events didn't. Setting the stage was the brutality of contractions, followed quickly by a difficult birth or extraction that led to the air being pierced with a variety of sounds no human should make or hear. Shortly, intruders appeared and changed the course of what should have been a sacred moment. Maybe the intruder was some kind of birth complication, maybe it was a person the mother didn't want to be around, or maybe it was Death himself joining the onlookers. Whoever or whatever it was, it was a regular player in the scenario. And I was no stranger to being part of the gallery, regardless of whether I wanted to intervene or if I could do anything.

And now?

Lodged between the wall and Miss Isabeau, my options were fairly limited. Isolt slaved away with the mother, fervently trying to prevent any kind of intruders into the scene; trying to keep the moment's sanctity. After my part is done, I found myself holding my breath until the cries of the infant permeated the otherwise silent room. I was no stranger to these kinds of moments, but as far as I had ever known they didn't end in noise. They didn't end in a bond between mother and child. They ended in silence, in tears, and deliberate numbness. I wasn't close enough to see the exchange between mother and infant when Isolt brought the baby to her chest, allowing the mother to wrap her arms around her newborn. Honestly? It's better that way. That's a moment I would have liked to see, myself... it's a moment I should have been part of. The first scenario, though, was a cold body and a silent child. A blood stained blouse and motionless bodies. With that in mind, it was no surprise that a cigarette slipped between my lips and I turned my head to blow smoke away from the pair, into the empty rooms behind me. Instead of standing there, though, I took a quiet exit to have my cigarette in solitude.

What should have been a quiet moment lost to reverie ended in a metallic click. The cocking of a weapon, echoing in the room I'd just left.

Strides away from the entrance, I closed the gap quickly so the women wouldn't be alone long. That isn't to say I didn't think Isolt could handle herself... but the young mother and newborn child had no one but an elderly midwife and a tender vampire at her disposal. She deserved the protection and aggression that a man could provide â€" especially one who knew the delicate nature of the situation all too well. Though the moments had been a brief blur, I recognized the outline of the intruder (literal this time), the sound of his voice striking me familiar.

"Do you think that's wise?" I asked, my voice low and smooth in my native language. The man turned, his eyes black with hatred and fury â€" only turning his eyes to meet me â€" before beginning to swell himself up as if he would become more menacing that way. "This doesn't concern you. This vampire shouldn't be here with this whore". And suddenly, it was all too obvious who the father of the child was.

"Isolt," I said softly, my eyes imploring her to stay patient and understand that it would be alright until the man moved his rifle, pointing it at the child and mother, his voice spitting broken English. " Get out of the way, she-devil."