Four months after the birth of Soren, Desdemona and Titus made their way to the temple. The ritual to create a birthing goddess needed to be performed on the sacred ground.

The culmination of two thousand years of desire settled in her gut. She was finally going to become what she’d been destined to be. Her parents had said they would come to the ceremony, with only a slight hint of questioning.

It was good for her to have the support of her family. Part of her wanted to be able to bring her brood back to the compound one day so that her many children could see how she’d lived as a child.

Titus had begun the reconstruction of a colonial style mansion in the countryside for when the children began to grow. They’d thought of it all and had accomplished much in the last month.

She held his hand as they flew across the sky, her baby in a car seat behind them in the jet. When they finally arrived at the temple, she found Bridget and Lucia waiting in the front hall. She met them, with Titus beside her as he held Soren in his big, strong arms.

“Desdemona,” Lucia said, looking slim and healthy. “We are prepared for the ritual whenever you are.”

“Thank you, both of you,” Desdemona said, letting her sister witches take her into their hands.

Lucia and Bridget walked with her through the temple, guiding her down the hall and into a preparation chamber on the first floor. The men were nowhere in sight as she was taken into the bathing room. The room was all stone tile with a deep circular pool in the floor. Desdemona was helped out of her robes and led to the pool, where she slowly stepped into the warm, crystal clear water.

Lucia and Bridget gave her the ritual bath with specially brewed oils and tinctures. The aromas worked through her skin, opening her body to the magic they wove with their softly spoken words.

As they combed scented oils through her hair, she felt her whole life spread out before her. The souls of her many unborn children hung above her in her vision of the world between lives. She had never felt more alive than in that moment. A vessel for so much life, so much spirit, so much wealth of energy and magic.

She was blown away by the magnitude of her own power to create. This. This was why Patrice had wanted to be a birthing goddess with Titus. The throbbing current of vital energy that would flow through her–through them both–as they brought their children into life; it was more powerful than any magical or physical force on Earth.

A melody played at the back of her mind, soft and sweet. A mystery coiled in a happy dance. A song to sing all day. She caught it, and it felt like feathers in her mind. The song sank into her heart like warm liquid and stayed there, always to be remembered.

The priestesses helped Desdemona from the bath and her visions faded. They helped her dry her body before wrapping her in a fresh white robe and soft white sandals. The women took her out through the back of the mansion into the warm summer air. The blue sky stretched above the deep green trees.

They walked up the path, and the fresh air was fragrant from spring flowers. She felt the sunlight on her skin. The warmth of the air and the subtle comfort of blossoming life.

They walked to the top of the hill. The sun at its zenith overhead. It beamed down hot and straight over the circle of smoothly cut standing stones.

The women sat Desdemona on a large cushion at the center of the stone circle. She was surrounded by a circle of flowers and another circle of salt. Around the outer circle of salt were runes drawn in the yellow sand.

Lucia and Bridget stood inside the circle of flowers on either side of Desdemona. The sun beamed down from above, right onto the top of her head.

The priestesses began the ritual that would change her entire reproductive structure. The ritual given to the priestesses directly from Gama.

Desdemona, Bridget, and Lucia had all come full circle since the old world. Being reawakened today had a new set of challenges, but they were each getting a second chance in the new one.

Lucia and Bridget began to recite the words of the spell, and Desdemona felt heat rise in her belly. Her full breasts throbbed, heavy with milk for her child. She drew a breath through her teeth and grasped her stomach.

The witches’ words grew in intensity, their tones growing more direct and forceful. The sun beamed down from above, growing hotter on the top of her head. Her reproductive organs ached and her milk began to flow down her chest.

Desdemona cried out. The pain slicing her gut. She felt the ground tremble below her and she sang out her song, the melody given to her by the spirits of her children. The pain eased. Lucia and Bridget’s chanting slowed, but didn’t stop. As they completed their incantation, the hill ceased its trembling and the pain went away.

Desdemona blinked. The women placed their palms on her head, muttering unintelligible words. The warmth of the sun and the cool energy from the earth below met together in her womb in a burst of energy. She gasped and shot her eyes wide.

Lucia and Bridget let go of her and ended the spell, both stepping back in silence.

She took a deep breath, the colors of the world still infused with magic. She felt a warm hand on her shoulder as Bridget leaned down to look at her.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I’m good. I do feel…different,” she said as the women helped her stand. “When will I be able to conceive?”

“As soon as you decide you are ready,” Lucia said.

They walked with her back down the hillside and took her into a private lounging room where she was given a comfortable place to rest beside a flowing fountain and greenery under diffused lighting.

She took deep breaths, relaxing and reflecting on what had happened. Desdemona couldn’t quite sink into to her new reality. Something had shifted during the ritual and she couldn’t put her finger on what. What was clear to her was that she had become a vessel for life. Her children were lined up and waiting to be brought into reality.

The responsibility was great, but it did not feel like a burden. It felt like an adventure. Her rock and her reason walked through the door, holding their baby son.

Soren burbled in Titus’s arms. Desdemona sat up on the settee and held out her arms for her son. It was well past feeding time. Titus sat beside her and handed her the babe. She pulled back her robe and offered him her breast, her husband’s solid warmth by her side.

As her baby suckled and her milk let down, Desdemona let out a satisfied sigh. Titus put his arm around her waist and held her close to his strong body.

She had never been more contented or more at home. She felt the love of their family multiplying exponentially and could barely contain her joy.