Merlin TV Universe, Willowbrook Village

Time: Year 1, Month 5, Day 1

Current Celestial Points: 500

Celestial Points Gathered (This Year): 1000/1000

Monthly Roll: 0/1

---

Amara sat by the window in Martha's home, working on the delicate embroidery for Miss Catherine Walsh's new dress. The merchant's daughter wanted roses and vines woven along the neckline, each petal stitched in great detail.

"Keep the spacing even," Martha guided, reaching over to point at an uneven stitch. "Miss Walsh will notice if one rose is larger than the others."

Amara nodded, adjusting her grip on the needle. Time moved differently when she worked - minutes and hours blending together as she focused on the task.

"You have steady hands," Martha praised. "Much better than when you first started."

A knock at the door interrupted them. Sarah burst in, her cheeks red from the cold. "You'll never believe what I heard at the tavern!"

Martha clicked her tongue. "Close that door before you let all the heat out."

Sarah shut the door quickly. "Robert the miller's son was caught with Mary from the bakery. Behind the storehouse!"

"Gossip isn't proper," Martha scolded, but her eyes sparkled with interest. "But I suppose we should know what's happening in our village... Tell us more."

Sarah sat down on a nearby stool, and started chatting. "Well, Robert and Mary have been meeting in secret for weeks now. His father promised him to that girl from Oakvale - the one with the crooked teeth? But Mary's got him wrapped around her finger."

Martha set down her sewing with a sigh. "That poor girl from Oakvale. Her father already paid the bride price."

"Three silver pieces and two sheep," Sarah nodded. "That's not even the worst part," Sarah lowered her voice. "They say she might be with child."

"Her poor mother," Martha clicked her tongue. "The shame of it. And Mary was such a good girl before Robert started sniffing around."

Sarah nodded eagerly. "Father Michael will make them marry, of course. But can you imagine the wedding? Everyone knowing why..."

"Speaking of weddings," Martha glanced at Amara. "How is Miss Walsh's dress coming along?"

Amara held up the embroidery. "Almost finished."

"Beautiful work," Martha approved. "We'll deliver it tomorrow. The merchant's caravan leaves in three days."

Sarah peered at the stitching. "I wish I could afford something so fine. But tavern work doesn't pay for silk and silver thread."

"Perhaps when you marry," Martha suggested. "A good husband provides for his wife."

"Like Thomas provides for Amara," Sarah smiled. "He's so attentive lately."

Amara kept her eyes on her work. Yes, Thomas had grown very attentive. Just yesterday he'd struck her for not refilling his drink at dinner. The human shell had learned to stay quiet and still, like prey trying to avoid notice.

"A firm hand shapes a good wife," Martha said approvingly. "Amara has learned well these past months."

Sarah sighed dreamily. "I hope I find a husband like Thomas someday. Someone who'll take care of me properly."

The conversation drifted to other village matters - whose cow had gone dry, which fields needed planting first. Amara let the words flow around her, focusing on each stitch.

The afternoon light faded as she worked. Sarah left to help her father at the tavern. Martha dozed in her chair, worn out from a long day of sewing.

Thomas returned from the forge smelling of smoke and iron. He kissed Amara's forehead, then frowned at her embroidery.

"Still working? You should rest more in your condition."

"Almost finished," Amara murmured, keeping her voice soft and eyes lowered.

"One more hour," he decided. "Then bed." His hand squeezed her shoulder in warning.

Amara nodded, finishing the last few stitches. The human shell might need rest, but her true nature could work for days without pause. Still, she had learned to obey Thomas's commands.

Two days later, Martha wrapped the completed dress in clean linen. "Remember to be polite," she told Amara as they walked toward the merchant's caravan. "Miss Walsh can be... particular."

The caravan stood at the edge of the village - five wagons painted in bright colors. Guards lounged nearby, watching the villagers with bored expressions.

Catherine Walsh stepped out from the largest wagon when Martha called for her. She wore an expensive blue dress, but her face twisted when she saw Amara.

"Finally," Catherine sniffed. "I was beginning to think you'd never finish."

Martha bowed slightly. "We wanted every stitch perfect, my lady."

Catherine barely glanced at Martha, staring instead at Amara. "So this is your new apprentice? The one who lost her memory?"

"Yes, my lady. Amara did most of the embroidery herself."

"Did she?" Catherine's eyes narrowed as she looked at Amara's swollen belly. "Well, I see she's been busy with other things as well."

Amara kept her gaze down, the way Martha had taught her. The human shell recognized the hostility in Catherine's voice, but Amara found it amusing. Humans put such importance on appearance.

Martha unwrapped the dress, holding it up. The roses sparkled in the sunlight, each petal carefully stitched with silver thread.

Catherine snatched the dress, eyeing the needlework with sharp eyes. "I suppose it will do. At least the stitching is even." She glared at Amara again. "Unlike some things."

Martha named the price they'd agreed upon. Catherine counted out the coins slowly, as if hoping to find an excuse to pay less.

"There," Catherine dropped the money into Martha's hand. "Next time I'm in the area, I expect better service. And maybe your apprentice will remember her proper place by then."

They walked home in silence. Martha counted the coins again, tucking them into her purse.

"Don't mind her words," Martha patted Amara's arm. "Some women can't bear to see others blessed with great beauty."

At home, Martha went to visit a sick neighbor, leaving Amara alone to clean. As she swept the floor, Amara decided it was time for more power. The space between moments opened up, offering something new...

[What’s a Dress Code – Generic TCG Anime] – Costs 0CP, 500CP available to spend.

Let’s be honest - whether you’re a sorceress, a twelve-foot-tall stone statue, or just another Duelist-in-training, there’s no way you’re dressing like a pedestrian. Whatever you want to wear will be considered “suitable attire” whenever such things matter. Wear that fur bikini over a chainmail one-piece if you want, even if it chafes like sandpaper, to your brother’s-wife’s-niece’s wedding...

Amara accepted the power with mild interest. The ability to wear anything without raising suspicion might prove useful someday, and it didn’t cost her any Celestial Points anyway. She returned to sweeping, mind already moving to other matters.

[ What’s a Dress Code acquired ]

Two weeks passed. The morning brought a chill wind and the sound of hooves on the road. Amara stood in the doorway, watching four riders enter the village. The tax collectors wore the red cloaks of Camelot, metal badges gleaming on their chests.

"They're early this year," Martha wrung her hands. "And asking for more than usual, thanks to that new queen."

The villagers gathered in the square as the collectors dismounted. The lead collector, a thin man with graying hair, unrolled a scroll.

"By order of King Uther and Queen Catrina, taxes are due today. The rate has increased to account for the kingdom's needs."

The villagers muttered among themselves as the collector continued reading. "Each household must pay five silver pieces, plus one-tenth of all goods and produce."

"Five silver pieces?" Will the blacksmith stepped forward. "Last year it was two!"

"The kingdom's needs have grown," the collector smiled thinly. "Queen Catrina requires certain... accommodations."

Martha gripped Amara's arm. "Five silver pieces? But that's more than we made from Miss Walsh's dress."

The collectors moved through the crowd, demanding payment. Some villagers handed over coins with trembling hands. Others begged for more time.

"Please," Sarah's father pleaded. "The tavern barely makes enough-"

"Are you hiding coins from us?" The collector gestured to two guards. "Search the premises."

Sarah watched helplessly as the guards ransacked the tavern. They came out with a small pouch of coins from beneath a loose floorboard.

"Holding back on your taxes?" The collector clicked his tongue. "That's an extra silver piece for attempting to deceive the crown."

When they reached Martha's house, Amara counted out the coins from Miss Walsh's payment. The collector weighed them in his palm and frowned.

"This isn't enough." He looked at Martha's neat home, at the bolts of fabric visible through the window. "A seamstress of your skill must have more hidden away."

"We don't-" Martha began, but the collector cut her off.

"Search the house," he ordered two guards. "And the forge as well. These people clearly prosper from their trade."

Thomas stepped forward. "Sir, please. My wife is with child-"

"Then you should have saved more carefully." The collector pushed past them. "Every corner, men. Queen Catrina expects full payment."

The guards searched the forge first, turning over tools and scattering coal across the floor. They found nothing but Thomas's day-to-day earnings.

Inside the house, they were just as thorough. One guard dumped Martha's sewing basket, sending spools of thread rolling across the floor. The other checked beneath floorboards and inside the cooking pots.

"Nothing here," a guard reported to the collector who waited in the living room.

The collector stood near the hearth, studying them all with sharp eyes. He was well-dressed for a tax man, with a trimmed beard and clean hands that had never known real work. A silver ring glinted on one finger as he tapped it against his sword hilt.

"No hidden coins?" He clicked his tongue. "How unfortunate."

The collector stepped closer to Amara, eyes roaming over her body. "Perhaps we can come to an arrangement." He smiled, showing clean white teeth. "Two days of... service, until we leave for the citadel. That would cover the remaining tax."

Thomas stiffened. "My wife is with child."

"Even better." The collector shrugged. "No risk of additional complications."

"You can't-" Thomas started forward, but Martha grabbed his arm.

"Thomas," she pulled him aside. "Let's discuss this."

"Discuss what?" Thomas yanked his arm free. "He wants to-"

"Lower your voice," Martha glanced at the guards. "Come outside with me. Now."

The collector smiled, settling into a chair by the hearth. "Take your time. I'll wait here with your lovely wife."

Martha dragged Thomas out to the yard behind the house. "Listen to me carefully. We don't have the coins."

"So we'll find another way!"

"What way?" Martha crossed her arms. "Sell the house? Your tools? Then how will you feed your family?"

Thomas paced, hands clenching into fists. "There must be something..."

"Two days," Martha said softly. "That's all. The baby is already growing - what harm can come to it now?"

"What harm?" Thomas spun to face her. "My wife-"

"Will survive, like many others before her." Martha's voice grew firm. "You think this is the first time? That other women haven't paid their taxes this way?"

Thomas stopped pacing. "What?"

"Sarah's mother, when she was young. The miller's wife, three years ago." Martha counted on her fingers. "The baker's daughter last summer - why do you think she married so quickly afterward?"

"But..." Thomas shook his head. "Nobody ever said..."

"Of course not. We don't speak of such things." Martha touched his arm. "But it happens. More often than you'd think."

"That doesn't make it right!"

"Right?" Martha laughed bitterly. "What's right got to do with anything? We're common folk, Thomas. We bend or we break."

"There has to be another way..."

"Look at me." Martha gripped his shoulders. "If we don't pay, they'll take the forge. Everything you've worked for. Your future children will starve."

Thomas's shoulders slumped. "But..."

"And if you fight?" Martha continued. "They'll kill you. Or worse, drag you to Camelot's dungeons. What then? Who'll protect Amara then?"

"I should protect her now!"

"You are," Martha insisted. "By being smart. By surviving. By making sure your child has a future."

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Thomas leaned against the wall, face pale. "How can I..."

"The same way other men do." Martha's voice softened. "Close your eyes. Pretend it never happened. In a few months, your child will be born, and life will go on."

"What about Amara? How can I face her?"

"She's a woman. She'll understand." Martha patted his cheek. "Women always understand these things. We have to."

"But she's pregnant..."

"Which means she's safe from the worst consequences." Martha glanced at the house. "And she's strong. She'll endure."

"I can't..." Thomas slid down the wall, head in his hands.

"You can. You must." Martha knelt beside him. "Think of your child. Think of the future. Two days means nothing against a lifetime of safety."

"Does Father Michael know about this? About all the women..."

"Of course he does." Martha snorted. "Why do you think he never speaks against the tax collectors? The church needs its coin too."

Thomas looked up at her. "How many? How many women in the village?"

"More than you'd believe." Martha stood, brushing dirt from her skirts. "Some were lucky - just a night or two. Others..." She shrugged. "Well, some collectors stay longer."

"And everyone just... accepts this?"

"What choice do we have?" Martha helped him up. "We're not nobles, Thomas. We can't fight back. We can only endure."

"But Amara..."

"Will survive, like all the others." Martha straightened his shirt. "Now come. The collector is waiting."

Inside the house, Amara sat perfectly still in her chair, watching the collector warm himself by the fire.

"Such a quiet one," the collector smiled at her. "Most women weep and beg by now."

Amara kept her eyes down. She didn’t really care who mated with her. But humans were really obsessed with it, this was the third person who was pursuing her in the village…

Thomas and Martha returned. Thomas wouldn't meet her eyes as Martha spoke.

"We accept your... arrangement," Martha said. "Two days, and the tax debt is cleared?"

"Two days," the collector agreed. He stood, adjusting his cloak. "I'll send a guard to collect her tonight. Make sure she's clean and properly dressed."

Thomas stormed out of the house as soon as the collectors left, heading for the forge. The bang of his hammer against metal echoed through the village.

Martha hurried around the house, gathering items. "We need to prepare you," she pulled out a clean dress. "The blue one, I think. Men like blue."

Amara watched Martha move about the room. The older woman's hands shook as she folded the dress.

"Now listen carefully," Martha sat beside her. "These men expect certain things. You must be quiet, obedient. Never look them in the eye unless ordered."

"Like with Thomas?"

Martha paused. "Yes... but different too. These men aren't your husband. They want to feel powerful."

"By having sex with me?"

"Shh!" Martha glanced around. "Don't say such things out loud. But yes." She smoothed the dress fabric. "Just... let them do what they want. Don't fight. Don't cry."

Amara nodded. The human shell understood submission - Thomas had taught it well these past months.

"If they hurt you..." Martha wrung her hands. "Just think of something else. Count the boards in the ceiling. Name all the threads we use for embroidery. Anything to keep your mind away."

"What if they want me to respond?"

Martha's face reddened. "Some do. Make little sounds, like you're pleased. Even if you're not."

"Like when I’m-"

"Stop." Martha stood up. "We don't discuss such things. Now, let's wash your hair. They'll expect you clean."

As Martha heated water over the fire, she kept talking. "The collector seems the type to brag. He'll want to show you off to the others."

"Others?"

"The guards." Martha tested the water temperature. "Sometimes they share. Don't react if that happens. Just... endure."

Amara let Martha wash her hair, considering these new human customs. They were so strange about mating - making rules about who could do it, when, and how.

"Keep your hands folded in your lap," Martha demonstrated. "Head down, shoulders relaxed. Like a proper lady."

"A lady?"

"Some men like to pretend..." Martha poured clean water over Amara's hair. "That they're bedding someone above their station. Play along if he does."

Martha spent the next hour brushing Amara's hair until it shone. She helped her dress, adjusting the blue fabric to show off her curves while still looking modest.

"Remember," Martha pinched Amara's cheeks to bring color to them. "Whatever happens, you survive. That's what matters."

A guard arrived at sunset. He leered at Amara as Martha gave her a final inspection.

"Ready then?" The guard grabbed Amara's arm. "The collector's waiting."

Martha caught Amara's hand before she left. "Remember what I taught you. And..." she hesitated. "If you need to cry afterward, come to me. Not Thomas. Men don't understand these things."

The guard pulled Amara away towards the outskirts of the village.

The collector waited in a large tent set up near the caravans. More guards stood outside, grinning as Amara approached.

"Welcome," the collector smiled, holding out his hand. "Shall we begin?"

…

The door creaked open in the gray morning light. Amara stepped inside, the blue dress now stained and torn at the seams. Mud and grass clung to the fabric, and her dark hair hung in tangles around her face.

Thomas sat at the table, a cup of ale untouched before him. His face turned ashen at the sight of her. Martha rushed forward, hands fluttering like nervous birds.

"Come, dear. Let's get you cleaned up." Martha reached for her arm.

"No need." Amara walked past them both, steady on her feet despite the limp. The human shell ached in various places, but she found the experience educational. Martyn the collector had proven quite informative about human desires once she'd seduced him as taught to her by James.

"Amara..." Thomas stood up, knocking over his cup. Ale spilled across the wooden table.

"The tax is paid?" Amara asked calmly.

Martha nodded quickly. "Yes, dear. All settled now."

"Good." Amara studied Thomas's face. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes. Humans were so strange about mating. The collector had been eager to claim her, yet her husband now acted ashamed that another man had her in his bed. It was his own fault for agreeing to share her, wasn’t it?

"I'll heat water for a bath," Martha walked toward the kitchen. "And find you a clean dress."

"The blue one served well," Amara considered. "Martyn liked how it tore."

Thomas made a choking sound and stormed out of the house. The door slammed behind him.

"Don't," Martha whispered. "Don't speak of it. Not to him. Not to anyone."

Amara tilted her head. "Why not? The collector was pleased with my performance. He wanted to keep me longer."

"Please," Martha grabbed her shoulders. "These things... we don't discuss them. Ever. Do you understand?"

"No," Amara admitted. "But I'll remember for next time."

Martha's face paled. "Next time?"

"Well," Amara smoothed down her torn dress. "Men look at me. The baker watches when I walk past. The miller's son follows me to the well. James likes me." She paused, seeing Martha's growing horror. "And now the tax collector wants me to go to Camelot next year to serve him."

Martha grabbed her arm. "Stop. Just stop." She glanced at the door Thomas had slammed. "You can't say such things."

"Why not? It's true." Amara tilted her head. "You told me to be honest with you."

"Not about this!" Martha's fingers dug into Amara's arm. "These things must stay secret. The baker has a wife. James is... and Thomas would..." She took a shaky breath. "Some truths destroy families."

"Humans are strange about mating," Amara observed. "The collector didn't mind sharing me with his guards, but Thomas can't bear to look at me now."

"Please," Martha begged. "Stop talking like this. You sound..." She stepped back, eyes wide. "You sound wrong."

"Wrong how?"

"Like..." Martha shook her head. "Like you don't understand. Like you're not..." She pressed her lips together. "The shock has addled your mind. That's all. A hot bath and rest will help."

"I'm not shocked," Amara explained. "My body responded well to-"

"Enough!" Martha clapped her hands over her ears. "I don't want to hear anymore. Just... go upstairs. Clean yourself. I'll bring food later."

Amara climbed the stairs, listening to Martha mutter prayers below. Humans put such importance on who mated with whom. James and the collector had taught the importance of seduction, yet she couldn't share this knowledge?

She touched her swollen belly. The baby kicked against her palm, strong and healthy. This was probably why humans cared so much about whom she mated with - they worried about whose offspring she carried. Not that it should matter…

The sound of breaking pottery echoed from downstairs, followed by Thomas's angry voice.

"Where is she?"

"Upstairs," Martha answered. "But leave her be. She's not herself."

"Did they hurt her? Did they..."

"She's alive. That's what matters."

Footsteps thundered up the stairs. The door burst open as Thomas stormed in.

"Amara!" He stopped short at the sight of her calmly removing her torn dress. "I... are you..."

"Hello, Thomas." She folded the ruined fabric neatly. "Did you need something?"

Thomas stared at her, face darkening. "Need something? You've been gone two days with those men, and that's all you have to say?"

"What should I say?" Amara picked up a clean shift from the bed.

The blow caught her across the face, snapping her head to the side. The human shell registered pain, but Amara found it interesting how quickly Thomas had changed. He used to be so gentle. Humans really were unstable, and she had understood since Minecraft that this race of mammals should be culled in the future. But that wasn’t going to happen for a while, her colony still needed to gather strength.

"You whore," he spat. "Standing there like nothing happened!"

Martha appeared in the doorway. "Thomas, no!"

He shoved her back, slamming the door. "Did you enjoy it? Spreading your legs for those men?"

"The tax is paid now," Amara touched her stinging cheek. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Another slap silenced her. Thomas grabbed her shoulders, shaking her hard.

"Shut up! Just shut up!" Spittle flew from his mouth. "My own wife, acting like a common whore!"

"You agreed to send me," Amara pointed out. The human shell trembled, but she remained calm. "To pay the tax."

Thomas threw her against the wall. "Because I had to! Because there was no choice!" He punched the wall beside her head. "And now you stand here, talking about it like... like..."

"Like what?"

"Like you wanted it!" He grabbed her throat. "Like you're proud of what you did!"

Martha pounded on the door. "Thomas! Stop this! Think of the baby!"

Thomas released Amara, stepping back. His hands shook as he looked at her.

"The baby," he whispered. "My child... watching while you..." His face twisted with rage. "How can I ever look at either of you again?"

The punch knocked her to the floor. Blood filled her mouth as Thomas kicked her side.

"Thomas!" Martha screamed from outside. "Stop! You'll kill her!"

"Maybe I should!" Thomas grabbed Amara's hair, yanking her up. "Better a dead wife than a shameless whore!"

Amara frowned at Thomas. She might have to reveal her true form and tear him apart. But she had invested a lot of time in this experimental pregnancy… She didn’t want to risk losing that now just because her husband got emotional.

Will the blacksmith's voice came from outside. "Thomas! Come quick - something's wrong at the forge!"

Thomas released her hair, breathing hard. "This isn't finished." He pointed at her. "Stay here. Don't move."

He stormed out, boots thundering down the stairs. Martha rushed in as soon as he left, helping Amara up from the floor.

"Oh, child..." Martha dabbed blood from Amara's lip. "He'll calm down. Give him time."

But Thomas didn't calm down. Over the next four weeks, he found reasons to strike her daily. A poorly cooked meal earned a slap. A wrinkled shirt meant a beating. Speaking without permission brought the back of his hand across her face.

Martha watched it all with pursed lips, saying nothing when Thomas dragged Amara around by the hair or kicked her legs out from under her.

"It's for your own good," Martha whispered one evening while cleaning a cut on Amara's cheek. "You need to learn proper behavior. To show shame for what happened."

"Shame?" Amara touched her swollen belly. The baby kicked strongly, unharmed by Thomas's violence.

"Yes, shame!" Martha grabbed her shoulders. "You act like nothing happened! Like those men didn't..." She shuddered. "Thomas beats you because you won't react properly. Won't cry or beg forgiveness."

"Should I cry?" Amara considered this, but she wasn’t sure how to force herself to cry. Tears often slipped out during beatings, but outside of that, her human shell wasn’t too inclined to cry unless she got in one of her moods because of the pregnancy…

"You should feel something!" Martha threw up her hands. "Anything! Not just sit there like... like..."

"Like what?"

"Like you're not even human," Martha whispered, crossing herself.

Four weeks after the tax collector left, Amara reached for power in the space between moments.

[A Prophecy – The Seven Deadly Sins] – Costs 400CP, 500CP available to spend.

You are the child of prophecy - the one who shall pull out the legendary sword and wield it against a great evil. Or at least it could be you, considering you mysteriously fit every single prophecy that has ever existed and will ever exist. Mysteriously, you seem to be able to wield every weapon that has a prophesied wielder, and you can kill anybody who needs to be killed by a specific person. No matter who, what, when, or where, you are innately able to make everything happen, even if the conditions aren't met. Need to kill someone at midnight? Well, midday is good enough.

Amara accepted it without much hesitation, and she smiled. No matter what requirements existed, she could fulfill them. Kill anyone who needed specific conditions met. Use any weapon meant for a "chosen one."

Useful.

[ A Prophecy acquired ]

Another month passed. Thomas's rage grew when he realized beating her didn't change her behavior. He made her sleep on the floor, fed her scraps, worked her until she collapsed.

The baby grew steadily despite Thomas's treatment. Amara's swollen belly became a shield of sorts - he avoided striking her there, focusing instead on her face and back. The human shell bruised and healed, bruised and healed, while Amara watched with detached interest.

Martha brought her extra food when Thomas wasn't looking. "For the baby," she would whisper, sneaking bread and cheese under her apron.

One quiet afternoon, while Thomas worked at the forge and Martha visited a sick neighbor, Amara felt that she had another chance. She reached into that space between moments, curious what would be offered.

[Kitsune Wear – Fate/Legends: The land of The Rising Sun] – Costs 100CP, 100CP available to spend.

Keeping up appearances across different forms can be challenging, especially when trying to stay stylish and fashionable. After all, what outfit could possibly suit both a curvy human and a small fox? The answer lies in clothes that transform just as you do. These magical robes can be summoned to you at will and will always repair themselves - even if completely destroyed or burned to ashes.

The robes can shapeshift at your command, not only taking the form of traditional Japanese garments but also any of the modern outfits Tamamo would wear. Whether you prefer a form-fitting police uniform, a military dress outfit, or flowing robes that tantalizingly cover just enough, these garments adapt perfectly. They're enchanted to provide comfortable protection from both the elements and minor attacks, allowing you to confidently wear even the skimpiest swimsuit with the defensive benefits of full samurai armor. Any additional enchantments will require your own magical enhancement.

The clothing would adapt to any form, repair itself, and provide protection. Most importantly, she could summon it at will - useful if she died and moved to another world. Her children might inherit this ability too.

Amara accepted the item but kept it hidden in her subspace pocket. Thomas would grow suspicious if his fists started bouncing off invisible armor.

[ Kitsune Wear acquired ]

Three more months sneaked past. Thomas's violence became routine - a slap at breakfast, kicks before bed. Amara had tried to act like she was ashamed of how she had acted, but it seemed Thomas had gotten so traumatized by what happened that it didn’t matter what she said or tried. He just took it as another excuse to beat her.

Martha fussed over Amara's massive belly. "Any day now," she would say, measuring the bump with her hands. "The baby's dropped lower."

Even Thomas grew less violent as the birth approached. He still struck her face, but the kicks stopped. "Don't want to harm my child," he muttered one night, lowering his raised fist.

The pains started at dawn. Amara stood in the kitchen, water running down her legs onto the floor.

"Martha!" she called.

Martha rushed in from the yard. "Oh! Oh, it's time!" She grabbed Amara's arm. "Upstairs, quickly. I'll fetch the midwife."

"Thomas-"

"Will stay at the forge," Martha cut her off. "Men have no place in birthing rooms."

Sarah appeared as Martha helped Amara upstairs. "I saw you running," she told Martha. "Is it the baby?"

"Yes, yes. Run and fetch Agnes - tell her it's started."

Sarah dashed off while Martha helped Amara into bed. The pains came stronger now, making the human shell gasp and clutch at the sheets.

Agnes arrived minutes later, her gray hair escaping from under her cap. She shooed Martha aside, checking Amara’s condition.

"First baby," Agnes nodded. "Could be a while yet." She glanced at Amara's bruised face but said nothing.

The sun climbed higher as Amara labored. Sarah brought water and clean cloths. Martha paced by the window, muttering prayers.

"Push now," Agnes commanded hours later. "The head's coming."

Amara pushed harder and harder. So different from laying egg sacs. The pain meant nothing to her true self, but her body screamed and thrashed.

"One more," Agnes encouraged. "Big push!"

The baby slid free in a rush of fluid. Agnes caught him, clearing his mouth and nose. A loud cry filled the room.

"A boy!" Martha clapped her hands. "Oh, praise God!"

Agnes cleaned the baby, wrapping him in a soft blanket. "Here," she placed him in Amara's arms. "Healthy little lad."

Amara looked carefully at the infant. He looked human, but she sensed his true nature beneath the disguise. The Authority of The Beast remained quiet - this was no human child, but one of her own kind. She would not need to consume him after all.

"Beautiful," Martha wiped tears from her eyes. "What will you name him?"

"Adrian," Amara decided. She had heard the name mentioned by merchants, and humans expected such things.

The baby rooted against her chest. Agnes helped position him at Amara's breast, showing her how to feed him.

"There now," Agnes nodded as the baby latched on to her nipple. "He knows what to do."

Amara felt milk flow from her breasts into her child. Strange, but effective. The baby suckled strongly, already showing good survival instincts.

"I'll tell Thomas," Martha headed for the door. "He'll want to see his son."

"Wait until the afterbirth," Agnes called after her. "Men have no stomach for such things."

An hour later, Thomas walked into the room. He stared at the baby, then at Amara's tired face.

"A son," he whispered. "I have a son."

"Strong and healthy," Agnes assured him. "Takes after his father."

Thomas reached for the baby with trembling hands. Amara let him take Adrian, but she watched him carefully. The child might look human, but she would kill Thomas if he tried to harm him.

"Adrian," Thomas tested the name. "A good, strong name." He smiled at the baby, then glanced at Amara. For a moment, the old gentleness returned to his eyes.

Amara watched Thomas cradle Adrian, seeing that the gentleness in his eyes didn't last. The moment passed, and his face hardened again as he looked at her.

"Rest," he commanded, turning away. "You'll need strength to care for my son."

My son, not our son. Amara settled back against the pillows as Thomas left her with the baby. She had learned enough from this village. The experiment with pregnancy had succeeded - Adrian had a human disguise but carried her true blood. Now she needed to expand her breeding program.

Martha was cleaning up the mess from the birth. "Such a beautiful boy," she kept saying. "He'll be strong like his father."

Amara closed her eyes, pretending exhaustion. Her children had grown larger, stronger over these months. Most were larger than her at this point. The human genes had also produced a couple of offspring capable of taking on a human disguise through the inherited Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing, while others remained in their true spider shape.

Agnes packed up her supplies. "Call me if the bleeding grows heavy," she told Martha. "And make sure she drinks plenty of water."

"Of course, of course." Martha showed Agnes out, then returned to Amara's side. "Sleep now, dear. I'll watch over Adrian."

Amara pretended to drift off, listening to Martha coo at Adrian. The woman would make an excellent first meal for her new child - tender flesh, well-marbled with fat.

Thomas's footsteps echoed up the stairs. He entered carrying a bowl of soup.

"She needs to eat," Martha reminded him. "To keep her milk strong for the baby."

Thomas set the bowl down without looking at Amara. "Make sure she does." He touched Adrian's head softly, then left.

Martha helped Amara sit up, spooning soup into her mouth. "Such a good boy," she cooed at Adrian. "Already sleeping so peacefully."

Amara swallowed the bland soup. The human shell needed sustenance to heal, but tomorrow she would feast properly. Her children had specific orders - take the young and healthy ones alive. The old could be eaten.

"I'll stay tonight," Martha decided. "In case you need help with feeding."

"No," Amara kept her voice weak. "You should rest. I can manage."

"But-"

"Please." Amara touched Martha's arm. "You've done so much already."

Martha hesitated, then nodded. "Very well. But call if you need anything." She kissed Adrian's forehead before leaving.

The house grew quiet. Thomas slept in the spare room now, unwilling to share her bed unless he wanted release.

Adrian opened his eyes in the darkness.

Amara clicked softly in the language of her kind, "Soon we go home."

Adrian's tiny legs moved, making clicking sounds that held no meaning yet, but showed he understood the language. His eyes, looking human but seeing in the dark like hers, focused on her face.