Her stomach hurt, muscles cramping constantly now. They had told her it would stop growing, that eventually it would stop, each week making new reassurances. “It’ll stop enlarging once you start eating this” or “It can’t keep growing if you do this.” Nothing worked anymore.

The worst thing was hearing it while in bed. If the nightair was quiet enough, she could hear it, gnashing its teeth. So many teeth.

Every week she had to meet with them, so they could record, so they could poke and prod and every week they would seem more and more troubled. It never ended and it left her wearier than anything else. She would return home, unable to do any cleaning at all and slowly but surely her home turned into a wastefield, the trash overflowing, the floor caked with dirt, the drapes in tatters.

By her fourth month, she had turned a ghastly pasty white, her fair skin now unrecognizable. Her eyes were sunken in like small beady orbs.

She would not have even chosen to see family if she was able to, too ashamed of how she looked. Back then, back when she had first started the process, she was so optimistic. So hopeful to finally start a dream she had had since she was a child. Becoming a mother.

She used to make her own dolls, using wood she stole from her father’s fireplace and cloth she took from her bed. Her mother had been disapproving but thought she would learn her lesson since she wouldn’t have proper sheets anymore. She never did learn that lesson.

It was nearing nighttime. She didn’t have the ability to go out during daytime anymore. Her skin would fester and boil in the sunlight, burning with a rage and intensity that left her as mentally scarred as physically. She wasn’t sure she would ever be able to go outside again.

They had promised her she would. At this point, though, she wasn’t sure any of their promises were going to come true. They were meant to placate her, to keep her from just taking her life. She could see through it all.

The thing kicked. A sharp poke in her stomach caused her to bend over, hands pressed on the spot. Everyday its nails got sharper, more deadly. Soon there wouldn’t just be pain but blood, it slicing through her stomach.

It shifted some more, its far-too-many joints furling and unfurling.

She didn’t want to die. It terrified her but she knew it was coming and she knew it would be because of this thing. Like everything else, they had promised her giving birth wouldn’t put her life at risk but she knew better.

Back then, it had seemed like such a good idea. In return for her service, she would be granted her dream. A baby. One to call her own but instead it became a living nightmare.

♠

Two men in rustic brown waistcoats stood over the desk of a third. Their voices were muted and tones hushed.

“Will she survive much longer?” the man at the desk asked.

“A week, if that. She’s already lost the ability to process grains and cooked meats.” He was lanky, like a corpse dressed up in skin.

“Will it live?”

“We are hopeful that subject number nineteen will be able to sustain itself outside of the womb. Of course, we can’t assure anything since, at this stage, it has already developed tangible resistances to magical interference.”

The other man, pudgy and sporting a beard thick with age and care, added onto his compatriots information. “She is being brought here as we speak for her final round of testing. We’ve already reserved a place for her stay that will allow us to continue monitoring her.”

“And it,” the lanky man added.

“Yes, of course.”

The man at the desk set his elbows on it, hands clasped together and covering his mouth as he thought. “Should I abort the other subjects?”

Both standing men exchanged glances. The lanky one spoke for both when he said, “We think it would be best to do so. It is too great of a risk to leave them as they are. If even one were to escape, the costs would be unimaginable.”

The pudgy man agreed, using a handkerchief to dab at his glistening forehead. “Creating so many viable subjects was a tactical decision borne out of necessity, not caution. I personally was against the idea from the start,” he said, eyeing up both men, looking for even the most remote acknowledgment of his purported foresight. A vain man he was.

Neither man ended up offering him that acknowledgement. Instead, they were interrupted by the presence of a servant.

“Excuse me, masters, but the young lady has arrived.”

“Brie.” The pudgy man explained to no one in particular.

The man at the desk dismissed the other two, allowing them to go see the lady and kept his servant back. As they left, they immediately noticed the absence of the stationed guard. It was unfortunately too common for them to deviate from their posted schedules, coming to their stations late or leaving too early.

The lanky man sighed, annoyed. They marched through the hallway, the still nighttime air magnifying every clack of their pointed leather shoes.

The lanky man spoke. “Marcia said she would be delighted to host again this week, if you’re interested.”

“She’s a treasure. I’ll talk with my own and we’ll get back to you.” After a moment's thought, he added, “Busy week though. An imperial funeral and a coronation.”

The lanky man nodded. “It’s mighty scary knowing what happened to dear old Zeckmas. I might very well pass on the funeral, if only to protect myself.”

“We’re smallfry in a big ocean. No one’s coming after us.” The pudgy man said reassuringly.

“I hope you’re right.”

They pushed through a door which led to a staircase. Descending, they walked single file.

“Odds on when she’s going to give birth to that monster?”

“I’d be astounded if it didn’t cut her up itself.”

The pudgy man chuckled to himself, not because it was particularly funny but it felt like the right thing to do in the situation. At the bottom of the staircase, they pushed through the final door only to discover something was terribly wrong.

Blood covered the ground, so thick by the door that it immediately covered their shoes. The pudgy man recoiled back in horror but was as equally transfixed as his partner, unable to tear his eyes away from the gruesome sight in front of him.

Bodies all over. Arms tangled, feet dangling, heads rolling. The bodies near the door crumpled over.

It was a sea of death and gore. Both men recognized the room’s now deceased inhabitants. Styrr, the head officer. Sharin, one of the servants. Myskin and Dareem, the two supporting guards. Zarr, the head scientist. All of them were brutally cut up.

For a second, the lanky man thought it had already escaped but realized that it was still too weak for that. Last they checked, it’s muscles were small enough that it would have trouble standing unsupported. No, this was something else.

The pudgy man turned to run but instead met the tip of cold, hard steel. The blade pressed against his through and he froze. The assassin’s black hair shone in the dim light, even as the rest of his body was couched in the safety of the shadows.

The lanky man turned to look at his compatriot and too was met with a blade to his neck, millimeters away from slicing through his delicate skin.

The assassin stepped forth from the shadows, revealing his unmasked face. If the two men had stumbled across him in the streets, they might have remarked on his eyes, for they were strikingly peculiar. Perhaps they might have but perhaps not.

The assassin spoke, “Where are you keeping the girl?”

The pudgy man was so totally gripped by fear that he was unable to produce so much as a single sound. The lanky man decided to speak truthfully, seeing that this assassin’s patience was not to be tested. “To the room on the left. Protocol in case something happens. Listen sir,” words now tumbling out of his mouth. “If it’s money you’re after-”

The assassin slit both their throats, watching them fall to the floor. With a flourish, he returned the blades to their scabbards. He brushed some hair out of his eyes. The girl would be his.

♠

She was crouched in a small room, reminding her of the closet at her parent’s house. The guard stood by the door, gripping a rifle so tightly in his hands that his knuckles were white. He was doing his best to prevent the tremors from showing but she saw anyway. She was too tired to be terrified. Simply running to this room had taken all her energy.

She had heard the people outside being viciously cut up, diced and minced, yet instead of being horrified, she felt a touch hungry. They had moved her to an all meat diet in the last two weeks. Raw meat. They said her body couldn’t process anything else.

Maybe a few months ago she would have been disgusted but this thing inside her changed the way she thought, like a parasite feeding on her thoughts.

A stomach full of devilbaby. That’s what she overheard one of the guards say one time. Now he was dead and soon so would she.

The guard at the door was listening intently, doing his best to hear even the slightest sound. She didn’t think it mattered. Whoever this was was a professional. This person wasn’t making amateurish mistakes.

The thing inside her shifted, a squelch bursting forth. It was loud, too loud. The guard at the door swung his head back, terror in his eyes and a half-formed word in his mouth but it was too late. The door burst open, knocking the man onto his stomach. He tried to roll over, try being such a big word, taking so much energy. A blade pierced his back, nailing him to the floor.

A man stood in the doorway, another sword in his other hand. He wasn’t particularly tall, nor particularly brawny. An average build but one that screamed a familiarity with death. She didn’t know how she could tell. Maybe it was the casual way in which he had dispatched the guard on the floor, who was still trying to move weakly or maybe it was the way he held himself, regal, elegant, like a man who was too important to bloody his own hands. Yet here he was.

He made no move towards her, instead glancing up and down, studying her. She was used to that look, that one where people were too revolted by her appearance to say anything at all like she was some horror show, a creepy, perverted fascination.

But the longer he watched her, the more she realized that it was a look of pity, sorrow. She was also used to that, especially from her family. Why would you do that to yourself? They would always ask. She wasn’t supposed to tell them but she did anyway. It was a deal, she would always explain. This in return for my dream.

“How close?” He asked, quietly, almost as if he were afraid it would hear.

Somehow she understood what he was asking about. Everyone always asked about it. “They don’t tell me.”

“Soon?”

“Probably.”

He nodded and then, after another moment of looking at her, stretched out a hand. She took it, him pulling her up. They moved out of the room, him guiding her gently, carefully, as if she were precious cargo. Her mother always used to say that jokingly anytime she told her that she was pregnant. You’ve got precious cargo, with a chuckle. The chuckling would always end two months later, replaced with that same old pity.

She didn’t have a clue where he was taking her and she didn’t ask, her legs suddenly feeling weak. He noticed.

“Can you walk?”

She shook her head no. He responded by picking her up and carrying her. He was surprisingly tender in the way he held her. Like that, they ascended the steps and moved out the door, disappearing into the night.