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“Nyx,” I whispered into the quiet room. The silk pillow on the far side of the bed shifted. “What?” Nyx asked. “Do you want to shower?” I asked, since she liked it when I threw well water on her during the hot summer months. “Do I want to shower?” she scoffed. “What kind of ridiculous question is that? Of course I do.”
During the day, the feminine urge to lead a fictional revolt plagued me.
Unplugging the shiny radio that sat on the kitchen counter, I grabbed an entire wheel of cheese and carried it back to my bedroom.
