Blood

Bright red coated Lois' fingers. Her eyes quickly shot down between her legs, where a crimson trail was leading off into the water.

The reporter held back a scream, but only just. She didn't feel hurt, but she must have torn something or cut herself inside, from the bottle. Her mind flitted briefly with the other possibilities, but quickly dismissed them: it was too early for her period by a couple of weeks, and a miscarriage was impossible, because she couldn't have been pregnant.

Taking several deep breaths, Lois continued to watch the heavy read flow. It was almost mesmerizing, the way it came out of her, but refused to disperse. A heavy red cloud, slowly spreading but still connected to her.

Not good. The reporter tamped down on blind panic, still surprised she couldn't feel at least a cramp...but she must be hemorrhaging. Need to get out of this tub, get to the emergency room...

Lois knew she needed to move. The sense of urgency was there, gnawing at her. Yet she was entranced by the cloudy swirls of blood, the river from the mouth of her pussy that was feeding it, giving it...yes, shape and definition. There were patterns in the blood now, which had grown so that the edges were frail, pink filaments, but the heart of it was dark and lurid red, almost seeming to pulse in time with her own heart.

The bloody shape moved, then, though the water in the tub was still. A thick tendril of it, reaching up toward the surface of the water, five branches coming off of it like fingers...and when they crossed the surface of the water they were fingers, thin and finely made, and something told Lois that it was a woman's hand, the nails trimmed to points. It was impossibly solid and lifelike, so that Lois could see every detail of the red arm as it emerged from the tub, emerging somehow from the red cloud that was still feeding out of her cunt...

...but she didn't scream until the crimson hand fastened about her right wrist.