The Offering Offends The Idol

Smoke began to rise from the edges of the bloodstained tampon. The curves and swirls carved into the idol's surface began to grow a deep, ugly red. As Lois Lane watched, the offending item began to blacken and curl, as if consumed by an invisible fire.

"Oh...shit," Lois muttered.

She staggered to her feet, backing away...and then a line of crimson fire shot out of the idol, impacting the reporter's belly button.

The reporter tried to scream, but her body was frozen in place. A dull heat suffused her stomach, a burning that seemed focused on her very womb. Slowly, Lois felt her head drawn to stare at the idol. Her eyes pried open by some unseen ****, Made to watch the line of strange plasma or lightning or...whatever it was that connected her to the idol like a strange umbilicus.

There was...an impression. Something flowing between the reporter and the idol, something invisible and yet substantial, and the dull heat suffusing her entire body began to travel up...up her spine into her head, until the reporter was sure her brain was about to boil

Memories came unbidden to the surface. The moment using birth control pills for the first time. Insisting her lovers wear condoms. The churning worry that one time she had needed to buy a pregnancy test, and the utter relief when it came up negative. Each memory accompanied now by a terrible sense of guilt, disappointment, a flash of anger. Lois shuddered as though her mother had opened up all the little corridors of her brain.

The heat retreated. Concentrated in her belly now, her whole vaginal canal on fire as though she had straddled a burning torch. Pain lanced straight through her, and yet Lois couldn't move, couldn't make a sound—something changed inside of Lois Lane at that moment, something she couldn't understand but felt, fundamentally. A profound sense of having been judged and found wanting pervaded her consciousness. Then, as quickly as it came, the burning line of fire that connected Lois and the idol vanished in a flash, leaving behind only a smell of ozone.

The reporter dropped to her hands and knees on the floor. The memory of the pain remained, but her hands on her belly and pussy were perfectly cool.

Yet something was different, Lois Lane knew. Something terrible. She could sense it, even if it hadn't been put into words.

She was cursed.