Chapter 10: Carrying and Cradling

After seeing Lorna grow more exhausted, her body weakening, and her resistance fading, Mrs. Hilma smiled in satisfaction. The girl could do nothing now, she remained latched onto her, breastfeeding despite the silent tears that streamed down her cheeks.

Mrs. Hilma did not waste this moment. Effortlessly, she lifted Lorna's frail body into her arms, cradling her like a mother holding her delicate newborn. Her large arms locked the girl in place, ensuring she couldn't move even an inch. Then, with a gentle sway, Mrs. Hilma began rocking her, moving her body in slow, rhythmic motions, just like a mother soothing her baby to sleep.

She continued to rock them both, swaying Lorna in her embrace.

The sound of milk being swallowed echoed softly, each gulp sliding down Lorna's throat like invisible chains tightening around her despair. Her sobs came in quiet, broken gasps, blending with the forced swallowing.

Lorna's body trembled in Mrs. Hilma's firm embrace, her slender frame helplessly cocooned in the woman's arms. Her tear, filled eyes could only see the massive breast pressed against her face, blocking her vision entirely. As if no world existed beyond the suffocating warmth that now trapped her, forcing her to accept a fate she could no longer refuse.

"My beautiful baby... my sweet baby..." Mrs. Hilma whispered, her voice tender and soothing, but to Lorna, it felt like something vile, seeping into her very soul.

Still cradling and rocking Lorna, Mrs. Hilma walked slowly, pacing the room with gentle sways as if truly trying to lull an infant to sleep. Every step was deliberate, savoring the intimacy of the moment, circling the room while keeping Lorna secured in her embrace.

Until her gaze fell upon a framed photograph hanging on the wall, an image from a past that remained deeply etched in her heart. Her steps slowed, then stopped entirely in front of it.

Still rocking Lorna against her chest, Mrs. Hilma stared at the photo with misty eyes.

It was a picture of her younger self, holding a baby girl no older than seven months. The infant's dark skin mirrored her own, a living proof of her bloodline, a confirmation that the child in the photo had truly been hers. No one knew where that baby was now.

Mrs. Hilma's gaze softened, as if being pulled back into time, to a past where she had once held a real baby. A child who had always been in her arms, who had always needed her, before everything was cruelly taken away.

Slowly, Mrs. Hilma lowered her gaze to the trembling girl in her embrace. Lorna was still crying, her body shaking. She was forced to suckle, breastfeeding despite the silent tears rolling down her cheeks. Against her will, she continued to suckle, her sobs clearly heard between each forced gulp.

But to Mrs. Hilma, this wasn't coercion.

This was fate.

"Poppy..." she whispered, her voice barely audible, drenched in longing. "Mama finally found you again..."

Completely consumed by her delusion, Mrs. Hilma hugged Lorna even tighter, swaying her as if she truly was Poppy, her long-lost baby. She resumed pacing the room, taking slow, loving steps, her arms wrapped securely around the fragile girl.

Meanwhile, Lorna simply shut her eyes. She no longer had the strength to fight, nor the hope to scream for help. Her body remained stiff in Mrs. Hilma's arms, while the fresh, warm breast milk continued to flow down her throat.

***

The clock read five in the morning. The sky outside remained dark, with only the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the narrow window gap. The air inside the room felt stale, cold, and damp, as if the space had long lost any trace of real human warmth.

Lorna suddenly jolted awake, gasping for air. Her body felt stiff, her arms and legs ice, cold, nearly numb. As her consciousness returned, she immediately felt something restraining her. The rattling of metal filled the silence, a sound that sent terror creeping up her spine.

She looked down at her hands, still bound behind her back. Her ankles, too, remained shackled with thick chains. No slack. No indication that the deranged woman had ever let her go. Not even as she slept.

Her clothes were still the same, the ballet costume she had worn before being abducted. The once pristine white dress now appeared dirty and crumpled, and when she glanced down, she noticed the sticky residue on her chest, dried traces of milk staining the fabric. Her body reeked of the musty scent of the room, making her feel even more degraded.

Lorna's eyes darted around. The room was unfamiliar. Oppressive. The overhead light had been switched off at some point, leaving only the eerie shadows cast by the furniture. In the far corner stood an old wardrobe, its door slightly ajar, resembling a gaping mouth in the darkness. On the other side, an antique rocking chair sat unmoving, and on it, a large stuffed bear slouched, its head tilted at an unnatural angle, its hollow black eyes staring straight at her.

Then, the memories of last night came crashing down.

Every horrifying moment before exhaustion had consumed her.

The suffocating warmth of Mrs. Hilma's embrace. The sickly sweet whisper in her ear. The scent of her skin, thick with sweat, breast milk, and a faint trace of perfume. And worst of all, the lingering taste of warm breast milk on her tongue.

Her skin still tingled where those massive hands had held her down, fingers digging into the nape of her neck, forcing her head against the woman's chest.

The scent clung to her nostrils, a stifling blend of sweat, breast milk, and something faintly floral, an unbearable concoction that refused to fade.

And the taste. The warm, nauseatingly rich breast milk that had flooded her mouth, leaving her no choice but to swallow. The humiliation of each forced gulp, the way it flowed endlessly, how every attempt to resist had only tightened the grip around her, pressing her closer, demanding more.

Lorna shook her head violently, trying to banish the memories.

But the harder she tried to forget, the clearer they became.

She bit her lip, swallowing back a sob.

No.

She couldn't cry. Not again.

Taking a deep breath, she braced herself, then pulled against the chains, testing their hold. The clinking of metal rang in the silence, emphasizing the futility of her struggle. She writhed, twisting her body in hopes of finding any weakness in her restraints.

But the chains held firm.

Pain seared through her wrists as the rough metal scraped against her skin, but she didn't care. She just wanted to get out.

Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

No. She couldn't give up.

If she stayed here, she would remain Mrs. Hilma's "baby."

Forever.

No. That couldn't happen.

Then, she heard it.

Footsteps.

Lorna froze, her heart pounding violently.

The sound came from beyond the door. Slow. Measured.

There was something terrifying about that rhythm, not just because she knew who it belonged to, but because the pace was calm, unhurried. As if the person on the other side was savoring the moment.

Click.

The doorknob turned.

Lorna held her breath.

The door creaked open, revealing the large silhouette of Mrs. Hilma, a gentle smile on her lips.

"Hi... You're awake, my darling?" Her voice was a whisper, sweet and tender.

But to Lorna, it was the voice of a nightmare.