A what-if scenario, were Laura never ending up sterile and meeting Mircalla. Also a comparison between Laura's body with her ideal one in a proper age; how she thinks it should be to bear a child with no miscarriage risks. Full breasts with plenty of nutritious milk that never runs out and hips wide enough to put up with the heavy yet delicate grow of her uterus. At least according to medieval beliefs, that is.

Let's not forget that, even if in this what-if scenario she became a milf, Laura didn't change. And that means her morbid curiosity with her body's own capabilities. Every morning after waking up she'd stare at the mirror, looking for the slightest change on her belly. Surprised by the huge one she developed, she made the most of its heavy pressure. Sewing tight yet elastic dresses to always feel the smooth silk against her stretched skin. Or trying all different kinds of poses in front of her mirror to admire her growing belly from all angles, searching in the process for any worrysome anomaly.

But what really fascinated her was everything brewing inside. Her unborn child sure was the energetic type. As if inheriting her mother's curiosity, she moved around so much that it looked like her belly had a life of its own. Laura would sit or rest just watching this phenomenom unfold. Even touching, pressing or jiggling her belly in response, just for her baby to answer with poweful kicks. To what her mother'd try to scare her by comparing herself to a witch stewing the little child in her own cauldron, everytime her stomach growled (and it worked for the child to cease). A playful game that could last hours, mother and daughter bonding with each other.

As for her breast milk, Laura was surprised how much she could brew. Every single day she awakened to the feeling of her engorged breasts about to explode. Usually leaking on their own due to the lack of space. Quite the conundrum how the slightest touch of the silk in her nipple or little pressure against her breast became a milky letdown. Not that it really bothered her, at least in home. Not worried for consuming her virtually infinite supplies, she'd use her milky resources for everything she came up with: cheese, a good-night glass of milk, lubricant, to smooth her sking and even painting or just target practicing. But her favourite activity, as you can see above, was just plainly drinking it from the source. That way, she also made sure it was healthy, warm and tasty enough when breastfeeding. She imagined herself as a caring mother, after all.

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