The whisper came again, closer this time, warm breath against my ear even though no one stood behind me.
I looked down. The gown’s embroidery had changed. Where before there had been a single star over my womb, now there were two. And they were pulsing faintly, in time with a flutter I felt deep inside.
But my hand—the one not pressed to my belly—was smudged with dried ink. Indigo. The same color as the constellations on my gown.
Except now, three hours—or was it three days?—later, I stood in a suite I didn’t recognize, wearing jewelry I’d never seen, and my stomach felt… different. Not sick. Not full. Occupied in a way that had no business existing. Masquerade Hypnosis -Before I knew it- I-m Preg...
The masquerade had a theme this year: Hypnos’s Gala . Every invitation bore the image of a poppy-wreathed figure with fingers pressed to smiling lips. Everyone joked about it. “Don’t drink the punch unless you want to wake up married.” “Careful, the DJ is actually a neurologist.” Just party chatter. Rich people’s Halloween with better tailoring.
Then, a whisper.
You agreed to this. In the trance, you said yes. You said, “I want to know what it feels like to carry life.” You signed the velvet book with a quill made of your own hair. The whisper came again, closer this time, warm
Or when.
A knock at the door. Three slow, rhythmic taps. Then a voice, low and amused, with an accent I couldn’t place. “Love? The midwife is here. She says the heartbeat is strong. Both of them.”
I had no memory of any book.
The last thing I remember before the door opened was the whisper’s final gift: a single memory surfacing from the trance. Myself, kneeling on a floor of rose petals and pocket watches, lifting a silver chalice to my lips, and whispering, “I consent. I consent. I consent.”
“Coming, darling,” I heard myself say. And I meant it.