The night was dark and stormy. Inside a dimly lit room, Sarah, a woman heavy with child, lay panting on a cold steel gurney. Her eyes flitted about in fear.

Each contraction came in waves, stronger and quicker than the last. She gripped the side of the gurney, knuckles white from the effort. "Please...let me...give birth," Sarah begged.

In the corner, enveloped in the shadows, a figure stirred, their face hidden under a hood. A malicious grin spread across their face as they approached Sarah.

"It's not time yet, Sarah," the figure hissed, their voice echoing eerily in the room. They approached Sarah, their grin ever malicious.

Tears streamed down Sarah's face as she shook her head, whimpering in fright. She tried to move, but her bonds held her firm. The labor pains intensified.

The figure moved methodically, tightening the ropes around Sarah's belly with an almost ritualistic care. Their silent enjoyment of her pain was palpable.

Sarah screamed as the figure pushed against her swollen belly. "Why are you doing this?" she screamed, her voice echoing in the empty room.

The figure merely chuckled, a chilling sound that echoed off the barren walls. "Because it's not time yet," they repeated, their voice cold and impersonal.

Hours turned into days. Sarah, exhausted and frail, had lost track of time. Her cries echoed through the room but fell on deaf ears.

The figure, relentless, continued their torment. Each contraction was met with a firm push, the baby forced back into Sarah's womb.

Sarah's pleas became whispers, her strength waning. Her belly throbbed painfully, the tight ropes cutting into her skin. "Please," she sobbed, "it hurts."

"It's not time," the figure repeated monotonously. Their voice was like a broken record, constantly replaying that same sentence in Sarah's mind.

Sarah's mind started to blur, her consciousness fading. The figure's laughter echoed in her ears as exhaustion slowly consumed her.

The figure tightened the ropes one last time, their satisfied grin evident under their hood. Sarah whimpered, the pain too much to bear.

But amidst her pain, a sudden spark of determination ignited in Sarah's eyes. "No... more!" she gasped, panting heavily.

Mustering every ounce of her remaining strength, Sarah forced herself to push. Her screams filled the room as the figure recoiled in surprise.

The figure rushed towards her, but it was too late. A loud cry echoed in the room, followed by the sound of a baby's wail.

A look of shock crossed the figure's face as they retreated to the shadows, their plan foiled. But Sarah was too exhausted to notice their defeat.

Sarah lay trembling on the gurney, her baby nestled in her arms. Her ordeal was over. She smiled weakly, whispering a soft lullaby to her child.

The figure, defeated, lingered in the shadows. They watched as Sarah cradled her newborn, their malicious grin replaced by a bitter frown.

As the dawn broke, the figure vanished into thin air. The room, once filled with terror and pain, was now filled with the soft cries of a newborn.

Sarah, exhausted but victorious, fell into a deep sleep. The sweat on her forehead glistened in the early morning light, her child sleeping soundly in her arms.

The ordeal was over. Sarah had endured the unimaginable and emerged victorious. The denied birth had finally been granted.

A new day dawned as mother and child slept peacefully. The room was silent, the terror of the night washed away by the morning sun.

Sarah's nightmare was over. She had fought against the unimaginable, and emerged victorious. Her strength was a testament to motherhood — a force to be reckoned with.

The room was at peace. The shadows that had once loomed so menacingly, were now nothing but mere silhouettes against the morning light.

The figure was gone. Their reign of terror had ended just as swiftly as it had begun. The denied birth was no more.

Sarah's victory echoed through the empty room. Her daughter's cries were her victory song. The terror of the night was over.

As the sun rose, Sarah slept peacefully, her daughter nestled in her arms. The room was finally at peace, the ordeal finally over.

The shadowy figure and the terror they brought were gone. The denied birth was no longer denied. Sarah and her daughter were free.

The morning light filtered through the cracks in the walls, bathing the room in soft light. The room, once filled with terror, was now filled with peace.

The dark room was now filled with the soft cries of a newborn. The terror was a thing of the past. The denied birth was finally granted.

And so, as the sun rose, a new day began. A fresh start for a mother and her child. The night of terror was over.

The figure was gone, but the memory of their terror lingered. But amidst the darkness, a new light was born—Sarah and her daughter.

The denied birth was a terror that Sarah had lived through and survived. Her story was a testament to the power of a mother's love and will.