Sawtooth Spire It was the 14th of October, had that T-shirt off your shoulder
ᴀ ᴠᴀʟʟᴜᴍ ᴏғ ғᴀɪʀʏ ᴛᴀʟᴇs
sᴍᴀsʜᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ
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Ooc — idc
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#6
were there worse things than a bath? irrefutably. war, famine, geese, the cromwellian conquest of irelandmother's sour breath in the morning. these were all things that ticked each box of the "list of bad things" list. NATHELESS! the one she, phaedra, sagtannet's princzessin, regarded with more disrelish than any of those things, was being b-a-t-h-e-d. if she was meant to be in one place, the celebrity in the sky wouldn't have furnished her person with such perfect feet for running and playing and tagging with. it was simple math. 

unfortunately math was not a subject (but it would be! perhaps not when she was princzessin, but when she was queen!) when bathtime cameabout and nothing equated to a grumpier phaedra than being stationary against her will. 

ah beans.
once mother's mouth seized hold of her venter, it was like she could feel her overindulgences slosh and curdling in her tummy. the moon's daughter worked a burp free and a touch of spitup came with it stamped return to sender.

she could feel the hot breath of her momma muttering and the contortions of her tongue purling against phaedra's fur as wylla spoke to (let's be honest) herself, child en evoyage. accursed with a ticklish belly, the girl squiggled and giggled, kicking her feet out in reflex. 
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