A lone guard.

"I have to be careful," Althea whispered to herself, dagger clutched tight in her hand. Each step sent a tangible sloshing throughout her modest potbelly. Padding softly, the priestess kept her knees bent and skulked to the wall with the utmost care not to make a sound. Better if they think her asleep than to draw any unwanted attention. Or maybe this was a test. Little more than a game to the wicked zealots. Althea traced a finger over the small, dark dots circling her navel. It was still an innie, but she suspected it would not remain so for long... She still didn't know the significance of the strange markings, and three of the nine spots had become ominous, black skulls. Much like the nine moons of a human pregnancy. Althea halted a few feet from the tall wooden double doors and pressed her back against the stone wall. By the Mother! It took all her resolve not to squeal on contact with the freezing cold stone. Strange, she thought. The floor felt cool, but not nearly as cold as the walls. Now that she thought about it though, the air in the room was colder than she remembered during the ritual.

Creeeak. One of the wooden doors opened with a rusty groan, and a solitary figure entered. The large hood blinded the cultist to their peripherals. Althea held a hand over her mouth, the other kept its white-knuckled grip on the dagger. "Huh?" the a gruff male voice grunted from beneath the hood. He had walked ten feet into the large, domed chamber and stood with an arm on his hip and another reached up to scratch his head in confusion. Althea could see a fat, white worm dangling from a wound in the man's forearm as the robe's sleeve fell away. His hand and wrist were a web of red, rashy patches. Althea held her breath as he looked side-to-side.

The cultist had his back to her, but if the sickly zealot turned around now, Althea might lose the element of surprise. Glancing to the left, she saw the wooden door was still open. She could flee, but if he saw her and alerted the others, they might do worse things to her after capture. Despite the acolyte's pilgrimage and training... Althea had never taken another person's life. The dagger weighed heavy in her hand, heart pounding in her chest. She felt goaded on by the sudden gurgle from the thing inside of her doing a flip within the stretched confines of her sullied womb.