A member of the Adepta Sororitas, Roxy once stood tall in power armor, her voice rising in hymn as bolter fire thundered in righteous fury. It seeks truth in suffering, and meaning in what one woman gave, when no one else could. “You carried the future,” he said. Just a kneeling woman, lit by a single beam of light, her hands on her belly, eyes raised in prayer. “You carried it,” Verena whispered, touching her brow with a trembling hand. Roxy lay still, her body exhausted, her purpose fulfilled. It is not clean. Roxy volunteered without hesitation. “You carried it, child.”
Roxy said nothing. But it wasn’t enough. “You carried it, child.”
Roxy said nothing. But worse than pain was the silence she had to hold. No tools. After endless minutes, the pressure shifted.
