The moon.
The pregnant moon.
She giggled a little as the thought occurred to her, her breath steaming in the crisp October night. How can a moon be pregnant? she wondered. Who or what would impregnate it? She imagined the two of them, the moon and it's hopeful lover, the sun perhaps, enjoying coffee in a Soho diner, the night rife with romantic possibilities.
A pregnant moon. How silly!
She giggled again and carried that amusing thought with her into the Stygian darkness as the creature's jaws closed on her throat for the final time.
The moon.
The pregnant moon.
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