Considering I absolutelydidn’twitness anything, it is so strange how I can hear Stockholm calling yet again…
Alas, my phone is preoccupied.
You know, playing the stream that I am so invested in.
Manie laughs and responds shakingly to Zahra, pulling my attention off Castor. Zahra says something about how he should stream, so I open the chat to concur. The manneverstreams. And it’s an absolute shame, because imagine how funny it would be to see him run away screaming on camera.
My beautiful, beautiful comfort characters.
Where would I be without them?
“Mine?” Castor calls, and I look up off my phone to realize I’m smiling, and maybe I shouldn’t be.
I don’t know how I’ll explain why I’m so happy right now without waxing poetic about how much I adore Enigma and Manie, and if Castor sees them as other men in my life or as threats, I don’t know what he’s capable of.
But I do know one thing…if he hunts down and gets rid of my comfort characters…I will never forgive myself.
My smile falls.
Rising, Castor stretches his back, rolling his broad shoulders and dusting off his hands. “Are you hungry, love?”
Hungry? He made me dinner before we came out here. A prime rib roast with garlic butter potatoes and a slew of mixed vegetables. “Not really,” I say.
“Thirsty?”
“No.”
This man keeps me both fed and hydrated.
Sitting pretty here in an adorable dress I found in the magical armoire this morning, I feel like a princess.
Or the top of a seeding dandelion.
The lighter-than-air fabric I’m wearing is just as whimsical and flouncy as everything else I’ve found in the magical armoire. The outfits in there change daily, but they are always more beautiful than anything else I’ve ever worn—no matter how many deals I’ve had with designer brands. They’re also a hundred times more comfortable and modest, too.
Castor sits beside me. “You don’t want any snacks to go with your show?”
Myshow.
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. Calling a stream myshowis adorable, but I am not in favor of considering Castor asadorableright now. Surely I’m not so good at complacency thatI’m forgetting how he casually stabbed himself in the hand just a few days ago.
He is handsome and otherworldly and insane.
And, yes, while heiscute, he isnotsupposed to bethiscute.
He says, “I’m sure Willow wouldn’t mind if I used Ollie’s card and went to pick you up some snacks you’re more familiar with.”
I laugh.
Castor’s head tilts. “Did I say something funny?”
Clearing my throat, I adjust my position as the leg I’m sitting on goes numb. “No… It’s just that my mother never let me have snacks. I’m not familiar with any of them. Sometimes, my meals looked likehealthy snacks, but that was all I got to have for the whole day. Carrot sticks and celery. A fruit. A boiled egg for protein.” For a few months when she wanted me to get a job with a guy who was particularly interested in girls who looked anemic, she had me on a liquid diet.
Formonths.
After that, such snack-like meals seemed almost filling.
Castor hums, low. “I do not like your mother.”
