“You can choose your age or, I mean, how old you appear?” Emerson whispers. “Wait, how old are you?” “Barely shy of four hundred,” I reply, pulling her flush with my front. “Still very much in the prime of my life.” Emerson sputters. “That's unreal.” “If you think I'm old.” I laugh, shaking my head. “Absolutely do not ask Laithe or Arsyn how old they are.” “Ohmigod, I've been banging the elderly.” Emerson snorts.
