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Summary
Hornet’s brows furrow. What Lace is implying, Hornet can only wonder. “You are no bug,” she protests.
It matters not to Lace, who has turned her back. Steps light as a floating feather, she careens to the other side of the room—hands on her hips, she examines their tidy bed. She plucks a limp pillow off the comforter.
“Bug or not,” she calls over her shoulder, “I am most helpful.”
Or: Lace guides Hornet through her rut.
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Bookmark Notes:
AAAAAAAHHHHHHGHGHHHH🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷
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Bookmark Notes:
What if she didn't know how to use it?