Yawning, Widow can't help but notice the newly vacant bed. It seems the moans and "extra flavor" of her meal were no more than a wet dream turned sour, as despite her own lack of energy, her meal begins to struggle within her.
Widow smacks her stomach, ordering that her meal,"Be quiet, morsel. You're nothing but padding for my figure, and as such it's time you act like it." She hits her meal again, this time putting a stop to any resistance from within.
Now, where was she?
