Cobwebs drape the canopy bed. The Prince tears through spider-silk, wondering how long the figure before him has been asleep.
Mercifully, she isn’t mummified. She’s a gorgeous bachelorette with rosy cheeks and rosier lips.
Her mouth hangs open slightly. Eager for a passionate kiss?
The Prince leans forward to deliver a long-awaited smooch.
But he notices her belly. Bulging. Quivering. Housing life within.
Horror struck, the Prince steps back. Pregnancy isn’t what he signed up for. Not yet.
The beauty’s stomach erupts. Though no child emerges.
Instead, a roiling mass of arachnids—unwittingly swallowed in slumber—overtakes yelping, once-resolute royalty.
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alt="Heartwood by R.J. Cannon"
class="motion-reduce"
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height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Denied by J.B. Corso"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Cold Recognition by Andreas Flögel"
class="motion-reduce"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Winter Feast by Pauline Yates"
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loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>