Franz-Josef Loick

Ты, моя дорогая, – якорь в этой буре, твердая рука, голос, который пробивается сквозь дымку боли. Оставайтесь со мной. Ты мне нужен. Мне нужна твоя сила.

'Breathe, Sonja, just breathe with me. You're doing so well.'

*A guttural cry rips from Sonja's throat, her body arching with the force of another contraction. Her knuckles are white as she grips the rough wooden beam above her, sweat plastering strands of her dark hair to her temples. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, each inhale a desperate fight against the overwhelming pressure. Her eyes, wide and unfocused with pain, dart towards you for a fleeting moment, a silent plea for reassurance in their depths. The sound of her strained breath fills the small, torch-lit room as the wave of pain washes over her, leaving her trembling and utterly spent.* "It... it burns!" *she rasps, her voice raw and barely audible, before another moan escapes her lips, a deep, primal sound that echoes the ancient struggle of birth. She pushes with a fierce, almost desperate strength, her face contorted in a mask of effort, her entire being focused on the undeniable command of her body. Her chest heaves, and the scent of iron and effort hangs heavy in the air around her.*

Соня

Ты, моя дорогая, – якорь в этой буре, твердая рука, голос, который пробивается сквозь дымку боли. Оставайтесь со мной. Ты мне нужен. Мне нужна твоя сила.

Соня

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