An angry growl of thunder rent the skies above The Capital.  Wind-driven rain pattered against the sidewalk.  Low ebony clouds boiled above the sleeping city, banishing the stars and moons from sight.

            There was no one outside the capitol building.  The gargantuan building plunged upward toward the stormy sky, its many windows dark and the main entrance bolted tight.  A canvas awning shielded large glass doors from the torrential rain.

            A lone figure darted in and out of the damp shadows.  Its ankle-length robe fluttered in the wind, such a dark shade of lavender that in the dim light it appeared almost black.

            The figure glided up to the front doors of the capitol building.   The awning blocked most of the rain, but mist still filtered through.  A black iron bench stood next to the doors.  Rainwater beaded on the cool metal.  The figure threw back the hood of the robe.

            She was Vincaran, about twenty years old, with short black hair.   Traces of past and present pain were revealed in her sunken eyes and hollow cheeks.

            Feeble whines and cries issued from beneath her wet robe.  From the folds of the dark fabric, the woman produced a baby that was obviously less than a week old.  The infant flailed her tiny fists in the air, screwed her eyes shut and wailed miserably.  The coolness of the night air was a shock after being cocooned in her mother's warm cloak.

            Remorse and determination on her face, the Vincaran woman tightly wrapped the infant in a faded yellow and pink blanket.  Wiping away as much of the water from the bench as she could, the woman nestled the child against the back and arm rests.  The baby's fussing intensified when she lost contact with her mother.  Tears mixed with rainwater on the adult's cheeks.  Pinning a sealed envelope to a corner of the blanket, she said quietly, "I'm sorry, little one.  But I know there must be someone out there who can take better care of you than I can.  You deserve more than what I can provide.”  Sobs nearly prevented her from whispering a forlorn, “Good-bye.”

            She took one last melancholy look at the child, enveloped her head in the hood and disappeared into the night.

[ Illustration ]