Memoriae of The Minerva (Celena)

“It’s a girl.” The doctor announces warmly, only for you to feel Stefan’s hand slip from your own. You glance over to him, the joy radiating from your face shattered at first sight of the pain in his eyes.
Turning his face away from you, he asks, “Are you sure?”
Removing her hand from your belly, the doctor nods - lifting her palm up with a flourish to reveal a model of your unborn baby in a sparkle of multi-colored lights. “Quite.” She replies, rising to her feet. “Perhaps the two of you need some time alone…” She suggests, moving towards the door and leaving the model of your child floating inches away from your fingertips.
You let her leave, pulling your shirt back down over your belly and reaching for Stefan’s hand. “What’s wrong?”
He pulls his hand away before you can reach it. “Nothing.” He replies, trying to force a smile. It isn’t terribly convincing. “I-it’s nothing.”
“We’re having a healthy, baby girl and you’re acting as though I was just diagnosed with a terminal disease.” You protest, folding your hands awkwardly in your lap. “And a contagious one, at that. What’s wrong?”
Stefan shakes his head. “It’s a girl.” He replies, as though he expects that should explain everything. When it becomes evident that it does not, he sighs. “If she’s a girl, then that means that, someday, she’s going to have to deal with…” His voice fades out for a moment before he manages, “With Her.”
You bark a laugh. Stefan looks at you as though it were the cruelest sound in the world, and perhaps he’s right, but you can’t help yourself. “Yes,” you reply, “Yes, one day, she will, but it’s a blessing, not a curse.”
“Is it, though?” Stefan counters, his face suddenly hard. “I saw what She did to Coudetta and I already spend every day terrified that one of these years she’ll do the same to you. I don’t know if I have the heart to worry about our daughter, too. Not like that.”
Your smile softens. He’s just a man. A loyal servant, to be certain, and a good husband, but just a man. He really can’t be expected to understand what it’s like to be the avatar of a goddess. “My mother turned away from her destiny.” You insist, reaching for his hand again. This time he lets you have it. “She disobeyed Her will. That’s not the sort of betrayal that She takes kindly to, but She didn’t harm mother. She simply left, which, I’ll remind you, is exactly what mother was hoping She would do.”
He shakes his head, taking your hand in both of his. “You’re right.” He smiles, but the expression is painfully thin. “You’re right. So, what shall the name of the next avatar be?”