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“He'll read me, look into my eyes, and know immediately,” I sighed, swallowing the tears that were welling up. “I won't be able to take it, and I'll break down from the overwhelm.”

I sank back into the thousand pastel pillows, staring at the bookshelf in front of me. At the ten books he had sent me. That my professor had sent me.

I wanted to sink into the ground.

My professor's child.

The thought that we shared something so personal disturbed me. A damn baby that carried his and my genes...

What had we done?

I should feel disgust for having slept with this man, but all I felt was goose bumps running up my arms and neck, and pulsing heat between my thighs.

God, Julie. What was wrong with you?

I got up to get a different perspective of my room and ended up in front of the mirror again.

And without warning, as if of their own accord, my hands moved to my belly, gently stroking the bump that still hadn't disappeared. On the contrary. It had grown slightly. And that was within three weeks.

I was nine weeks pregnant. Or was it already eleven?

I tried to deliberately push it out of my mind, not to count, since the mere thought of the child no longer reminded me of the fairy-tale image of Erik, but of someone else entirely.

The baby should be the size of a plum, even though my belly already looked like an avocado was making itself comfortable inside it.

I ate more, far too much, but threw it all up again every morning and my limbs, feet, and fingers felt swollen all the time, even though the mirror didn't really reveal any other physical changes except for my swollen breasts.

It was the water retention that made me feel that way. And I hated it.

Did all mothers feel this way?

I took a deep breath and cupped my hands around my belly.

I was going to be a mother. I was only eighteen, soon to be nineteen.

How was I going to manage this on my own? And did I even want to manage it?

I had toyed with the idea of secretly giving it away, but that broke my heart, just like the thought of having an abortion did.

It had been Erik I had wanted to cling to through this child, like a fool in love. And even though I now knew who this man was, the feeling that I had to hold on to the baby still didn't go away.

It was precisely these unanalyzable emotional outbursts that were another reason why I despised emotions. Not only did they make me weak and lose control. They also made my life more complicated.

I pulled up my gray wool sweater and the white blouse underneath, ran my hand over my bare belly, and let the goose bumps come.

I wanted to go to a gynecologist to find out if everything was okay with her.

Even though the interpreters of the prophecy disagreed, and some – like Grace and Amara – believed that the prophet could only be a boy, because men were the more powerful Quatura, I knew it was definitely a girl. Boys, if at all, were only conceived in pure Quatura couplings.

Only a gynecologist could confirm that she was healthy, but the Councils forbade me from seeing one.

“We will find out at birth, and you will not allow ultrasound waves to touch the prophetess!”

Rebecca’s words were ridiculous, and I would violate them without hesitation, but it wasn’t entirely her fault that I still hadn’t done it.

I would have gone to the doctor long ago if it weren't for the inner voice telling me that this baby would lose her life anyway and that it was already a miracle that she had made it this far.

I was cold. From the inside and the outside. When I used my element, my hands and feet turned blue, or I was so exhausted afterward that I collapsed on my bed and slept for fifteen hours straight.