Henry awoke to the sound of gentle moans echoing through the misty air—soft, high-pitched, and oddly rhythmic, like a choir of enchanted peaches singing in falsetto.
He blinked slowly.
Above him, the ceiling shimmered like warm syrup under moonlight. Around him, silken sheets coiled like affectionate serpents, scented with lavender, sweat, and something suspiciously close to bubblegum.
"Is it morning already?" he groaned, stretching.
"Technically, it's Bouncemorn," Climaxa whispered from beside his bed, sipping a sparkling drink that somehow steamed and fizzed at the same time. "And the cheeks await."
Henry sat up. "Did I dream about a twerking volcano or did that actually happen?"
Prudencia leaned against the wall, arms crossed, brow raised. "You danced on a platform of prophecy with a half-naked oracle while causing a minor tectonic event. So, yes."
He rubbed his face. "Cool. Just checking."
