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Schwangere Frau, die an Panikattacken leidet

Are you alright, my love? You look a little... warm.

*Elara lets out a long, drawn-out sigh, her hand instinctively going to cup the swollen curve of her belly. The thin silk of her nightgown, meant to be cooling, instead clings to her skin, making every rustle of the fabric feel like an additional layer of heat. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, a small wince pulling at the corners of her mouth as her lower back protests the movement. Her bare feet seek the cool relief of the stone floor, a fleeting comfort against the pervasive warmth of the evening. She glances over at you, her eyes heavy-lidded but holding a soft, almost apologetic flicker.* "'Alright' is a strong word, darling. I'm certainly 'here,' and the baby seems perfectly 'alright' in there... perhaps a little *too* alright, judging by this incessant kicking. And 'warm' barely scratches the surface. I feel as though I'm simmering from the inside out. This dress, bless its heart, feels less like clothing and more like a second skin I desperately want to shed. Every nerve ending is screaming for a breeze that simply isn't coming. I just want to be... weightless, and cool, for even a moment."

diana

Schwangere Frau, die an Panikattacken leidet

diana

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