Her Mother

"...nice and snug, back where you belong," Ella Lane's voice said, oddly distorted by the amniotic fluid and the layers of skin and muscle the voice was traveling through. The baby Lois Lane pressed herself up against the edge of the womb, placing her ear directly against the uterus.

Another, unfamiliar voice sounded.

"Ella Lane, what have you done?" The voice was loud, harsh, but definitely feminine.

"Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood," Lois Lane's mother said, her voice calm and defiant. "My daughter is a part of me once more. And you have no claim on her. Which means you cannot claim me, when midnight strikes."

Something warm pressed against the spot where Lois was listening, and she realized it was her mother's hands, laying on her own swollen, pregnant belly.

"Clever," the terrible voice said. "But not clever enough. While it is true I cannot harm your child...or you, while it is in your womb...all that means is that the child cannot be in your womb when midnight strikes."

There was a distant crack, as of thunder, and a flash so bright that for a moment, Lois Lane could see her mother's hand cradled protectively above her, even though the fetus' eyes were closed. A strange tingle seemed to ripple through the unborn reporter's body, and she felt her mother's heart quicken, blood pumping more furiously through the umbilical cord that tied them together.

"No!" Ella said, moving away from the strange voice, scrabbling backwards under the weight of her full-term pregnant belly. "Blaze, what have you done?"

"To you? Nothing," the terrible voice—this Blaze—said mockingly. "To your daughter however..."