Welcome to London. Don't mind all of the weird hallucinations that Muggles sometimes have here.

Here, Big Ben really likes to strike the hour. He can really make a loud din, while doing so.

Here, the Muggle coppers carry clubs. Only SWAT teams use firearms; and they're seldom ever called up.

In the more laid-back parts of the city, there are nice houses. Here, a Muggle family named Roberts stays. Inside, the British Robertses are served by black domestics. Ah, how they miss their favorite one...

She's in the cellar...gestating. Not herself; her baby soon to be born. Her man has left her. She even has reason to suspect that he might be dead...

Alone and expecting, Ms. Thomas chants. Every now and then, she feels an electric sting in her belly. She doesn't know it, but a primitive case of sibling rivalry is brewing in her tummy. Not just primitive, but metaphysical, as well...

O, how I miss my man

I probably shouldn't

If this is what he meant to give me,

Then I'm a bit glad he's gone

This is what women should aspire for, I know

But why can't it just be easy?

Why can't there just be an army

Of attendants at the ready,

Who can care for the weak when I cannot

I am woman

I am weak

Who attends to me?

Did I come to Britain to be enslaved

After being as bad off as a slave in Africa?

I sure hope the rains in Africa are blessed

Because sometimes it seems the ones in London are accursed...

Many hours later, she's in a hospital. She's in labor. Her eyes glow red. She keeps chanting, in all-caps.

HOW IT SUCKS TO BE A MUM

WHEN YOU CAN'T EVEN PROMISE YOUR CHILD

THAT THINGS WON'T BE TOO BAD

THAT THEY'LL SURVIVE, AND YOU WILL TOO

OR THAT WE'LL EVEN LIKE ONE ANOTHER?!

O, HOW THE FUCK DO I DO THIS?!

IT WOULD TAKE A WITCH TO SO MUCH AS BREAK EVEN!

I MAY BE BLACK,

BUT I SURE AS HELL AIN'T A WITCH!

MY MASTER NEVER LOOKS AT ME,

BUT IT'S JUST AS WELL, BECAUSE HE'S MARRIED TO MRS. ROBERTS

LITTLE GOOD THAT DOES EITHER OF THEM

O BABY, MY BABY,

HURRY UP AND FUCKING COME OUT!

MAMA ISN'T MADE OF STEEL

SHE HURTS, WHEN YOU MAKE THIS MOLEHILL AND MOUNTAIN!

Way too long later, Mrs. Thomas is resting, and recovering. Even so, she chants.

O, how I wish it was over now

But as I know very well, it's merely the end of a phase

The next one is going to be like hell

It'll start out easy, but soon become a fucking crucible

The midnight fire will burn for its milk

And it'll sound like a fucking abomination when it does

O, but what can I do

But become a slave to this behemoth I've created

With codependence from a suave, smooth-talking black man

Who can't finish what he starts?

He probably even turned down the army, when they recruited him...

O, how it would make my job easier

If I thought that my child would grow to be a hero

Or a messiah

Or a Nobel prize winner

If so, I just might be willing to give an extra damn for free...

At this time, a nurse slips in. She's holding two wrapped-up black infants. One's in a purple blanket. The other's in a red one.

Mrs. Thomas gapes. Her jaw quivers. All of a sudden, her life just got a shitload harder...

"We have good news, Mrs. Thomas," says the nurse, who's also black. "These are both yours. They're twins; a boy and a girl."

At the window, the blinds suddenly vanish into thin air. The sun, from the window, seems to spotlight the baby in the red blanket...

"O my fucking Lord," Mrs. Thomas whimpers.