Sawtooth Spire you just wanna know those peanut butter vibes

poor phaedra, indeed. she was gonna kick that yellowjacket's candy ass when her teeth came in proper.
she grizzled grouchily as soreness nipped at her cheek flesh. she continued fussing with her mouth, forgetting all about madame scarlet.
cool moss could only do so much. the doktor’s orders were firm—mother’s milk was the only course of treatment. it’s soporific qualities would wane her consciousness of the pain, which had a shelf life of an hour or so, and the swelling would not persist long. a day, perhaps. two if karma was feeling bitchy.
she would revisit moss and ladybugs some other day.
with a thin cry for her mother, the child started shifting off the moss when mahler had her gathered in his maw and returned his daughter and himself to the den.