Unlike most expecting females, Masquerade was rather indifferent about her pregnancy. The thought of children was nice and all, but it murdered her gorgeous figure. She went from an hourglass-shaped hottie to a potbellied, second class looker. There was still an unmistakable beauty that embraced her (even while pregnant) but the colorful Noct was convinced she was no longer as attractive.

She sat on the rock where she and the father of her unborn offspring met. Masquerade was not in a relationship with Wolfram—perish the thought—but she wouldn’t deny feeling a small sense of fondness and liking for him. He, however, showed far more enthusiasm about the babies than she did. After all, she knew him well enough by now to realize underneath all the gruffness and belligerence, he was soft and squishy.

“I’m hungry,” Masquerade began, rubbing a hand over her enlarged midsection. She looked at Wolfram and tilted her head, a smile forming across her green lips. “Will you be a dear and fetch me something to eat?” Her tails swished behind her. “Pretty please~?”