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.
“Coming, darling,” I heard myself say. And I meant it. Masquerade Hypnosis -Before I knew it- I-m Preg...
I pressed a palm to my lower belly. The silk was taut there. When had that happened? I was lean. Athletic. I’d done a full ab workout the morning of the party. But now there was a firm, round swell beneath my hand, as undeniable as a moon rising. The masquerade had a theme this year: Hypnos’s Gala
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. “Don’t drink the punch unless you want to
A knock at the door. Three slow, rhythmic taps. Then a voice, low and amused, with an accent I couldn’t place. “Love? The midwife is here. She says the heartbeat is strong. Both of them.”
But my hand—the one not pressed to my belly—was smudged with dried ink. Indigo. The same color as the constellations on my gown.