Masquerade Hypnosis -before I Knew It- I-m Preg... [Bonus Inside]

The silk was deep midnight blue, embroidered with constellations that seemed to shift when I blinked. My mask was a delicate thing of silver lace and tiny, faceted obsidians that caught the candlelight of the masquerade hall behind me. I didn’t recall putting it on, either. In fact, the last clear memory I had was standing in the coat-check line, holding a champagne flute I hadn’t been old enough to drink from.

The masquerade had a theme this year: Hypnos’s Gala . Every invitation bore the image of a poppy-wreathed figure with fingers pressed to smiling lips. Everyone joked about it. “Don’t drink the punch unless you want to wake up married.” “Careful, the DJ is actually a neurologist.” Just party chatter. Rich people’s Halloween with better tailoring.

Before I could scream, the spiral in my eyes turned once more. My knees went soft. My fear dissolved like sugar in warm milk. The woman in the mirror finally smiled with my face—not delayed, not dreamy, but truly mine.

The last thing I remember before the door opened was the whisper’s final gift: a single memory surfacing from the trance. Myself, kneeling on a floor of rose petals and pocket watches, lifting a silver chalice to my lips, and whispering, “I consent. I consent. I consent.” Masquerade Hypnosis -Before I knew it- I-m Preg...

Except now, three hours—or was it three days?—later, I stood in a suite I didn’t recognize, wearing jewelry I’d never seen, and my stomach felt… different. Not sick. Not full. Occupied in a way that had no business existing.

Both?

The whisper came again, closer this time, warm breath against my ear even though no one stood behind me. The silk was deep midnight blue, embroidered with

“Don’t panic,” I told my reflection. The woman in the mirror smiled back a beat too late. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, dreamy, utterly at peace. That wasn’t me. I don’t smile.

I looked down. The gown’s embroidery had changed. Where before there had been a single star over my womb, now there were two. And they were pulsing faintly, in time with a flutter I felt deep inside.

You agreed to this. In the trance, you said yes. You said, “I want to know what it feels like to carry life.” You signed the velvet book with a quill made of your own hair. In fact, the last clear memory I had

I tore off the mask. My pupils were blown wide, and in the irises—just for a flicker—I saw the shape of a spiral, turning slowly.

“Coming, darling,” I heard myself say. And I meant it.

I just didn’t know to whom.

Not words, exactly. More like the shape of words pressed against the inside of my skull. Let go. Step into the dance. You are exactly where you need to be.

I had no memory of any book.