Pregnancy was hell for Judy.
Every day felt like a system overload — nerves raw, patience shredded, circuits sparking beneath her skin. Her cybernetic implants glitched against her shifting hormones, sending her into fits of frustration that rattled the apartment walls. She hated the mirror, hated the softness growing where sharp edges used to be, hated feeling *slow.* Everything she’d built herself to be — sleek, precise, in control — had been dismantled by biology.
Araavos, in contrast, was maddeningly calm. The divine stillness that surrounded him filled the space between her tempers and tears, a quiet constant amid her chaos. He moved with purpose, never rushing, never raising his voice. He steadied her when her balance failed, cooled her skin when her circuitry overheated, and absorbed every scathing remark she threw like sunlight passing through glass.
Still, there were limits. Even gods had them. His patience was not weakness — and when her words crossed into cruelty, his gaze would harden, silent but absolute. It was enough to remind her where the line was drawn. Yet every time she broke, trembling and breathless from her own volatility, his arms were there — grounding her, forgiving her, wordlessly reminding her that love could withstand the storm.
The final month came with sleepless nights and fear she couldn’t quite admit. Her body rebelled, her tech malfunctioned, and the pain began before she was ready. It struck like lightning — sharp, consuming, unstoppable. The neon glow of their apartment blurred into streaks of color as she doubled over, trembling from the effort of keeping herself together.
