“Well?” Sylred asks Evert again. “I don’t fucking know! It just felt…different.” “Like what?” he persists. “The Lust one makes me want to fuck her. The other thing she just did makes me think of stupid shit. Like writing her poems or getting her flowers or some pansy-ass shit like that.” “You really need some improvement in the romance department,” I tell him. “Flirtation,” Sylred says, snapping his fingers. “That’s it.” “Very good,” I tell him.
