"It is what it is." She looked at the floor. "It is what we are. We take energy. We don't — we don't make things. We don't carry things."
"I can impregnate you," he said.
She looked up.
He met her eyes.
"If you want."
The silence lasted seven seconds.
Her eyes moved to Soha's belly — the full pregnant dome of it, pressing warm between them, the tight skin of the pregnancy catching the lamplight.
Her hand moved.
Involuntarily.
Reaching forward and pressing flat against the side of Soha's belly — the palm contact of a woman reaching for something she thought she understood and is now uncertain about.
"Just like this woman," she said quietly.
"Ah." He shifted. "No. Not exactly like her."
The succubus looked at him.
