It began on a Tuesday, because Mondays were already cursed.
Biggie stood in the kitchen. Shirtless. Calm. Stirring tea with a knife.
Ivy leaned on the doorway, thirty, wealthy, chaotic, wearing a trench coat and a
wedding ring that wasn't hers. "You're beautiful when you're brooding," she said.
"I'm just making tea," Biggie replied.
Lurvy ran past them, screaming, "WHY IS FIN CHASING ME WITH A CONTRACT?"
"She wants to sponsor your therapy," Tequilla yelled from the balcony. She was in a
wedding gown.
Fin, holding a pen like a weapon, growled: "THERAPY IS LOVE!"
Legin entered, dragging a suitcase filled with her pets. "If anyone hurts them, I'll hex your
bloodline."
Xeno descended the stairs, shirt open, smirk turned up. "Which one?"
Everyone went silent.
Ivy's eyes flickered. Waravan, scrolling Grindr beside the fridge, muttered, "Don't start
this again."
"Start what?" Arson blinked.
"That," Doth said, entering like a monk in a cologne ad. "That tension. That forbidden
flavor."
Apple rolled her eyes. "This is why I married rich. To avoid this."
Biggie sipped his tea. "Too late. We're all related."
Tequilla shouted, "WAIT WHAT—?"