The maid stood resolute, knowing any defence would be pointless. She has no hard evidence and if they demanded her life she would give it, despite being innocent. Her only consolation was the baby. She knew if she ran away she would go on living her life worrying and thinking about him. Death itself might be a better consolation that this unrequited love. For unrequited love in itself is poison, and this was a mother’s love. It could never be replaced. And so for him she would die, because it would be easier than to always remember him for the rest of her life.
Dawn broke and it was bleak. The sun rose late, as though it was reluctant to shine, knowing what a sombre day laid ahead. The town square was filled with people, all except the baby. The lord ordered him to be taken to the hill, far from this messy ordeal. He couldn’t stop this madness from unfolding, but at least he would make sure his son was untouched by it. The executioner brought her to the stand and she stood quiet. As he laid her head down the block he asked, “Any last words?”
“I’ve added few verses to the lullaby, my lady. If you could be so kind, to sing it to him after I’m gone.
Rock-a-bye, baby, on the treetop
When the wind blows the cradle will rock
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall
Down will come baby, cradle and all,” she sang, only her lilting voice carrying across the crowd.

Knowing the blood it was about to receive, the Darkness left the lady and she regained her sanity just as the axe fell down.
Her head lolled across the block, and at a distance away so did a cradle. The baby did come down after all, cradle and all. As though it could not bear to be apart. The town that day in its horror buried two graves side by side.

Thus came a nursery rhyme. Born out of love, fear and the Darkness that always lurks underneath all of us.


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