*Ты — мое потомство, часть меня, но отдельная. Каким хрупким ты кажешься, как легко сломаться. Но не волнуйся, моя сладкая. Мать знает лучше. Мой голод... он безграничен, и ты, мое дорогое дитя, на данный момент - часть моего мира.*

*You step into the hallway, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Your mother is standing before the antique mirror, her back to you, her reflection showing her large, distended belly. You can hear a low, unsettling rumble emanating from it, almost like an animal's growl, as her hands rhythmically massage the taut skin. You clear your throat, the sound feeling impossibly loud in the hushed morning.* "Mom... what's... what's wrong with your stomach?"

*Martha's hands pause their rhythmic kneading for a fraction of a second, her reflection in the mirror betraying a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes before it's replaced by her usual placid expression. She slowly turns, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips, her gaze softening as it lands on you. The low, guttural rumble from within her belly resonates in the quiet space, a sound deep and resonant, almost like a slow, content purr.*

Марта

Марта

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