I accept the squirming bundle of my sister, marveling at how light she feels despite her chubby cheeks and sturdy limbs. Aislin pats my head affectionately before rising to join Maeve by the hearth.

Bouncing Larisa gently in my arms, I'm rewarded with a series of delighted giggles that bubble up from her tiny chest. Despite myself, I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Perhaps there are some small joys to be found in this wretched existence after all.

As Aislin moves towards the cellar, a thought strikes me. I adjust Larisa on my hip and call out, "Mama, won't you miss me when I go to live with Erik?"

Aislin pauses, her hand on the rough-hewn door. She turns, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Why would that trouble me, child?"

I bite my lip, feigning childish uncertainty. "Well, I thought you might miss my helpful hands around the hovel and garden. Who will help you with the chores and tending the vegetables?"

A ghost of a smile flits across Aislin's careworn features. She waves her hand dismissively, as if shooing away an errant fly. "Oh, don't fret about that, Lile. You can visit whenever you like. Now, I must fetch some turnips for our meal."

As Aislin disappears into the dank cellar, another vicious cramp seizes my abdomen. I gasp, my knees buckling, and for a heart-stopping moment, I nearly drop Larisa. The babe lets out a startled squeal, her chubby arms flailing.

Maeve clicks her tongue, shaking her head. "Tsk, tsk. Lile, go sit down on the straw with Larisa and Nuada before you hurt yourself or the babes."

I sigh heavily, partly from the pain and partly from the indignity of it all. Gingerly, I lower Larisa onto the fresh straw pallet in the corner of the room. Then, I turn to take Nuada from Maeve's outstretched arms.

No sooner have I settled the boy against my chest than he lets out a wet burp. A torrent of warm, sour milk cascades down my front, soaking into the crimson knotwork of my dress.

Inwardly, I seethe. Disgusting little creature! If I had known you'd use me as your personal vomit receptacle, I'd have left you to Maeve's tender mercies.

Maeve's laughter rings out, sharp and mocking. "Oh, Lile! You should see your face! You look like you've been caught in a rainstorm of curdled milk!"

I growl, low in my throat, as I snatch up a nearby linen cloth. With quick, efficient movements, I wipe Nuada's cherubic face, then do my best to blot the mess from my dress. The acrid stench of sour milk fills my nostrils, threatening to turn my own stomach.

Once I've cleaned us both as best I can, I lay Nuada down next to Larisa on the straw. Then, with a groan that's only partially exaggerated, I lower myself to lie beside them.

Maeve turns back to the hearth, where Aislin has emerged from the cellar with an armful of gnarled turnips. The two women begin preparing the morning meal, with Atlas and Fionn hovering nearby, eager to help.

"Now, boys," Aislin says, her tone gentle but firm, "you're still too young for knives, but you can help by washing these vegetables. Atlas, fetch some water from the bucket. Fionn, find us a clean cloth to scrub with."

As the boys scamper off to complete their tasks, I turn my attention to the infants beside me. Larisa gurgles happily, her pudgy hands reaching for my face. I catch one of her fingers, marveling at how tiny and perfect it is.

"Well, little one," I coo, pitching my voice high and sweet, "shall we play a game?"

I wiggle my fingers above Larisa's face, watching as her blue eyes track the movement. She lets out a delighted squeal when I tickle her chubby cheeks, her little legs kicking in excitement.

Nuada, not to be outdone, rolls onto his side and makes a clumsy grab for my hair. I wince as he yanks on a golden strand, his grip surprisingly strong for such a small being.

"Careful there, you little barbarian," I mutter, gently prying his fingers loose. "I'd rather not go bald before I'm wed."

From the hearth comes the rhythmic thud of Aislin's knife on the wooden cutting board. The pungent aroma of garlic and onions fills the air, mingling with the earthy scent of carrots and potatoes.

"Atlas, be a good lad and fetch the salted chicken from the cellar," Aislin calls out. "Mind you don't drop it!"

I hear Atlas's eager footsteps as he races to comply, followed by Fionn's whine of protest. "Why does he get to go to the cellar? I want to help too!"

Maeve's husky chuckle floats across the room. "Because last time we sent you to the cellar, you knocked over a whole crock of pickled cabbage, you clumsy oaf."

"Did not!" Fionn retorts, his voice rising in pitch. "It was Atlas who pushed me!"

"Enough, both of you," Aislin interjects, her tone brooking no argument. "Fionn, come here and help me shred this cabbage. And no more bickering, or you'll both go without breakfast."

As the sounds of domestic industry continue around me, I return my attention to the infants. Larisa has managed to grab hold of a lock of my hair and is contentedly gumming it, while Nuada has rolled onto his stomach and is making valiant attempts to crawl.

I watch them with a mixture of fascination and mild revulsion. These helpless, mewling creatures, so utterly dependent on the adults around them. And yet, I muse, they hold such sway over their parents' hearts. What a curious power they wield, all unknowing.

"Look at you, trying to escape already," I murmur to Nuada, placing a hand on his back to steady him. "I don't blame you. I'd want to flee this wretched hovel too, if I had the chance."

The irony of my situation is not lost on me. Here I am, a grown man trapped in a child's body, playing nursemaid to infants while the women of the household prepare a meal. If my colleagues from my past life could see me now, they'd laugh themselves sick.

But as Larisa's tiny hand pats my cheek and Nuada's amber eyes meet mine with innocent trust, I feel an unexpected twinge in my chest. It's not quite affection – I'm far too jaded for that – but perhaps a sort of kinship. After all, aren't we all trapped here in this primitive time, victims of circumstance and the whims of forces beyond our control?

The thought is interrupted by another cramp, less severe than before but still enough to make me wince. I shift uncomfortably on the straw, trying to find a position that doesn't aggravate the dull ache in my lower abdomen.

"Lile, are you feeling alright?" Aislin calls from the hearth, her voice laced with concern. "You look a bit peaky."

I force a smile, making sure to inject a note of childish bravado into my voice. "I'm fine, Mama. Just a bit sore, is all. Nothing I can't handle."

Maeve snorts, not unkindly. "Brave words, little one. But wait until the real pains start. Then you'll be singing a different tune, I'll wager."

As if on cue, the aroma of roasting chicken begins to permeate the air, making my stomach growl despite the lingering discomfort. Atlas and Fionn hover near the hearth, their eyes wide with hunger as they watch Aislin and Maeve work.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"Can we eat yet?" Fionn whines, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I'm starving!"

Aislin chuckles, ruffling the boy's shaggy hair. "Patience, lad. Good things come to those who wait. Now, why don't you and Atlas set the table? The food will be ready soon enough."

As the boys scurry to comply, I return my attention to the infants beside me. Larisa has dozed off, her rosebud mouth slightly open as she snores softly. Nuada, however, seems determined to make his great escape, inching forward on his belly like a particularly determined slug.

I sigh, resigning myself to another hour of infant-wrangling while the delicious smells of breakfast taunt me from across the room. Such is the glamorous life of a time-displaced consciousness, I suppose. At least the food promises to be better than the usual gruel.

I reach out and gently tug at Nuada's tiny linen shift, scooping him up into my arms. His chubby legs kick excitedly as he squirms, clearly eager to explore beyond our cramped sleeping area.

"Where do you think you're going, little man?" I coo, adopting the saccharine tone expected of an older sister. "Why so desperate to join the others in the main room, hmm?"

Nuada's amber eyes lock onto mine, his brow furrowing in concentration. His lips part, and to my utter astonishment, he utters a single, halting syllable: "M...Ma."

My heart leaps into my throat. Could it be? I whirl towards the main room, calling out excitedly, "Did anyone hear that? Nuada just said his first word!"

A gasp echoes from the hearth, followed by the rapid patter of feet. Maeve appears in the doorway, her eyes wide with wonder. She rushes over, practically snatching Nuada from my arms.

"Did you say 'Mama,' my sweet boy?" she coos, peppering his chubby cheeks with kisses. "Say it again for Mama!"

Nuada, however, seems to have exhausted his vocabulary for the day. He merely burps loudly, then dissolves into a series of unintelligible gurgles. I can't help but laugh at Maeve's crestfallen expression.

"Don't worry," I tease, "next time I'm sure he'll-"

My words are cut short by a sudden commotion. Before I can react, a small figure darts between my legs, disappearing beneath the folds of my shift. I let out an undignified squeak, more startled than truly alarmed.

"Fionn!" I yelp, kicking out instinctively. My foot connects with something solid, and I hear a muffled "oof" as the intruder tumbles backward. "That is absolutely no place for a boy to be! What were you thinking?"

Maeve opens her mouth, likely to scold Fionn, but Atlas is already there. He helps his half-brother to his feet, his expression stern. "That was wrong, Fionn," he says firmly. "You can't just go around looking up girls' skirts."

I'm momentarily taken aback by Atlas's mature response. How odd... This is not the first time either.

With a weary sigh, I turn to Fionn. His lower lip is trembling, and I can see tears welling in his golden eyes. "I forgive you," I say, softening my tone. "But don't ever do that again without my permission, understand?"

Fionn nods vigorously, clearly relieved to avoid further punishment. Maeve, however, seems to find the whole situation amusing. She lets out a throaty chuckle. "Oh, come now. The boys are just curious. You should have let him see, Lile. It's only natural."

I arch an eyebrow, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice. "And what, pray tell, should I have let Fionn 'see' at his tender age?"

Maeve's grin widens, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Why, the bloody, disgusting rags, of course! That'll teach him not to go poking around where he shouldn't. Nothing kills a lad's curiosity faster than a bit of monthly mess!"

I can't help but laugh at her crude humor, even as I inwardly cringe at the casual way these women discuss such matters. From the hearth, I hear Aislin join in the laughter.

"You're not wrong, Maeve," she calls out. "Perhaps we should have slapped a bloody rag right over Fionn's face. That'd teach him a lesson he won't soon forget!"

The women's raucous laughter is cut short by a pitiful wail. Fionn has dissolved into tears, clearly overwhelmed by the attention and the threat of such a disgusting punishment. Atlas, ever the protector, wraps an arm around his brother's shoulders and guides him back to the main room, murmuring words of comfort.

Maeve, still chuckling, nods towards the other room. "Come on, then. Let's eat before the food gets cold."

I rise to my feet, brushing stray bits of straw from my shift. "Larisa's still asleep," I point out, glancing at my peacefully slumbering sister.

"No matter," Maeve replies, bouncing Nuada on her hip. "I'll watch over this little chatterbox while the boys have their fill."

As I follow Maeve into the main room, I can't help but seethe inwardly at the casual acceptance of this arrangement. Of course the precious male children must eat first, never mind that Atlas and Fionn are mere boys while I'm... well, not exactly the child I appear to be. It's infuriating how these women perpetuate such backwards traditions without a second thought. Fucking Christianity and its patriarchal bullshit. If they only knew the egalitarian society I came from...

I watch with barely concealed disgust as Aislin and Maeve fuss over Atlas and Fionn like a pair of mother hens tending to their precious chicks. The rich aroma of the stew wafts through the air, making my stomach growl in protest, but apparently, I'm not worthy of such prompt attention.

"Here you go, my strong lads," Aislin coos, ladling generous portions into their wooden bowls. "Eat up now, you'll need your strength for the day ahead."

Maeve, not to be outdone, leans over to cut Atlas's meat into bite-sized pieces, her ample bosom nearly spilling out of her bodice. "Is that better, sweetling?" she simpers. "We can't have you choking on these big chunks, can we?"

I roll my eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't fall out of my head. It's all I can do not to gag at this nauseating display.

"Mmm, 's good," Fionn mumbles through a mouthful of stew, bits of carrot and potato flying from his lips. "Can I have more bread?"

"Of course, darling," Aislin replies, practically tripping over herself to fetch another hunk of dark bread. "Here, let me butter that for you."

As if sensing my mounting irritation, Atlas turns and catches my eye. The little brat has the audacity to shoot me a sly grin, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. He knows exactly what he's doing, the smug little bastard. I feel my blood begin to boil, but I force myself to maintain my childlike facade, plastering on a sickeningly sweet smile.

"Oh, Atlas," I chirp in my most saccharine voice, "you've got a bit of stew on your chin. Shall I fetch you a cloth to wipe it, or would you prefer Maeve to lick it off for you?"

Aislin gasps, scandalized. "Lile! Mind your tongue, young lady!"

I duck my head in mock contrition, but not before catching Atlas's scowl. Score one for Lile.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of pampering and fawning, the boys finish their meal. They scamper off to play outside, leaving blessed silence in their wake. Aislin busies herself filling three trenchers with the remaining stew, and I eagerly take my seat at the table, my stomach growling in anticipation.

As we tuck into our meal, Maeve leans forward conspiratorially, her amber eyes glinting with gossip. "Did you hear about what happened at the Doyle's place last night?" she asks in a hushed tone.

Aislin's eyes widen with interest. "No, what happened?"

Maeve grins, clearly relishing her role as the bearer of juicy news. "Well, it seems old Seamus caught young Cormac in a rather... compromising position with Grainne Murphy behind the pigsty."

I nearly choke on my stew, struggling to maintain my innocent expression. "What does 'compromising position' mean, Auntie Maeve?" I ask, batting my eyelashes.

Aislin shoots Maeve a warning look, but the damage is done. Maeve, ever the tavern wench at heart, launches into a colorful description that would make a sailor blush.

"Let's just say, little one, that Cormac was trying to stuff his sausage into Grainne's bun, if you catch my meaning," she says with a wink.

Aislin gasps, her cheeks flushing crimson. "Maeve! Not in front of the child!"

I struggle to keep a straight face, torn between amusement at their antics and disgust at the crude metaphor. "But Mama," I say innocently, "I thought sausages go in your mouth, not your bun. How silly!"

This sends Maeve into peals of laughter, while Aislin looks like she might faint from embarrassment. "Oh, you're a clever one, Lile," Maeve chuckles, wiping tears from her eyes. "But don't you worry your pretty little head about such things. You'll learn all about sausages and buns when you're older."

"Speaking of buns," Aislin interjects hastily, clearly desperate to change the subject, "did you hear that Bridget O'Brien's oldest girl is expecting again? That'll be her fourth in as many years!"

"Lord have mercy," Maeve clucks, shaking her head. "That poor girl's womb must be as worn out as a village whore on payday. She'll be lucky if this one doesn't fall right out of her when she sneezes!"

I can't help but snort at that, earning me a reproachful look from Aislin. But I notice she's fighting back a smile of her own.

I push away the remnants of my meager breakfast, my stomach churning with a nauseating intensity that threatens to expel its contents.

"I think I'll go lie down on the straw for a bit," I announce, trying to keep my voice steady despite the dizziness that's making the room spin. "I'm feeling a bit off."

Aislin's eyes widen with understanding, and she nods quickly. "Yes, go on then, child. Best you rest before you barf up your food all over the table."

Maeve, ever the sensitive soul, lets out a bark of laughter that grates on my frayed nerves. I shoot her a glare that would wither crops, but in my current state, it probably looks more like a pained grimace.

With a heavy sigh that seems to come from the depths of my very being, I push myself to my feet. The world tilts alarmingly for a moment, and I have to grip the edge of the table to steady myself. Slowly, carefully, I make my way to the sleeping area, each step a deliberate act of will.[...]