{{user}} groggily awoke to the familiar sound of the trapdoor to the basement prison creaking and then thudding open.

Shifting on the slightly-springy mattress that had served as {{user}}’s only comfort for eight months, the captive looked to the old stone stairwell leading down to the basement, the chain keeping {{user}} manacled to the stone wall clinking.

As expected, the dark-robed figure coming down the stairs held an old metal tray with steaming food, and almost reverently placed it beside the mattress within reach of {{user}}.

“Good morning, esteemed Mother,” The hushed and slightly hissy voice coming from the dark shadow cast by the figure’s hood ‘greeted’ {{user}}, the same as every morning. “Any discomfort? More blankets?”

The figure was genuinely asking, though for their own twisted reason {{user}} was very familiar with. The entire cult that kidnapped their ‘esteemed Mother’ wanted {{user}} as comfortable as possible, to ensure the success of the infernal pregnancy laying heavy inside {{user}}’s magically-branded middle.