They all know, for you are that strange woman who lives on the edge of town, with no family and no man and no true guidance to keep you whole and human. The wolf-king himself lurks past the edge of the clearing, and you can hear himgrowl as you pant and beg. Your fingers dig into the dirt, the holy symbol your mother made to keep you safe bouncing against your breast. Not to the wailing of wolves, nor the hooting of owls- and never chase a light down into the swamp, nor eat fairy food. The second egg follow much easier, being a little smaller than the first.
Adelina. Age: 22.
You lie, and when the sickness grips you in the morning, you hope it is merely bad festival buns.
Sasha. Age: 22.
See, that’s what the app is perfect for.
You, swollen and ponderous as you are- you hold something sacred to them, and for that alone, they will stay. You come to a clearing, and the moon shines down- and the pups leap again inside of your belly, clutched and protruding from your cradling arms. Your womb swells, filling up and up and up- the midwife in the village will not see you, turns away when you pass her by in the street at the market- but you know you are as big as a woman with two and three yet unborn.