Something dark had taken root in Jessamyn's womb, and Jerrick could feel its sinister presence like a cold weight pressing against his chest. His hand hovered over her swollen belly, but no warmth or connection met him.
It was as if the light of their unborn child was dimmed, shrouded in a shadow he couldn't fully understand. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he tried to focus, to figure out what was wrong.
The moment he touched Jessamyn's hand, clarity washed over him. He could see it now—dark tendrils, like twisted vines of malevolence, coiled around their son. It wasn't an umbilical cord that gave life; it was a cruel, insidious force that drained it, chipping away at the essence of their child with every passing moment. The darkness was old, powerful, and it slithered in a way that sent shivers down Jerrick's spine.
