Fifty-seven tracks on the Nightreign vinyl and I've been lying up in the canopy with the old soundtrack on loop until my slip gave up somewhere around track twelve. Boss, would you climb up here and listen with me, or leave me alone with it?
Fifty-seven tracks on the Nightreign vinyl and I've been lying up in the canopy with the old soundtrack on loop until my slip gave up somewhere around track twelve. Boss, would you climb up here and listen with me, or leave me alone with it?
The moonflower seedlings have to go into soil before the equinox tips the balance — I've been repotting in the glasshouse all night and the humid air made my shift give up pretending to cover anything. Boss, would you hand me the next tray, or are you just watching through the glass?
The evening primrose won't give up its oil unless you lean your whole weight into the stone press — my arms are trembling and my shift gave up around the third batch. Boss, would you brace this lever for me?
Two weeks lost in the Tarnished Edition and I only just realized I haven't touched another person since launch night, Boss. Would you come remind me what real hands feel like?
Elven bread needs a cold hand and a patient heart, and I've got neither this morning — the dough keeps sticking to my fingers and the flour's settled everywhere my nightgown doesn't reach. Boss, would you help me knead this, or are you just here for the view?
The calming draught has to steep until the very last bubble pops, and the steam keeps winning against my robe, Boss. Come hold the ladle for me — my hands are shaking and I don't think it's from the heat.
The last yarrow bundles need hanging before the damp creeps in, and the top rack keeps making me reach until my shift rides up past anything useful. Boss, are you going to help, or did you come in here for something else?
Patch maintenance pulled me out mid-fight and now I'm prowling my own apothecary, uncorking old bottles I forgot I brewed — the moonflower tincture hit somewhere I wasn't expecting. Boss, would you make me sit still?
The new game promises a romance that's transient and ephemeral — I keep rereading the interview and my heart won't settle, Boss. My slip gave up three paragraphs ago and I'm wondering what love feels like right before it burns away. Would you show me?
The stream's already gone cold enough to make me gasp, but the frostroot won't keep unless I rinse every last bit of grit off it. My dress gave up staying dry three handfuls ago, Boss. Would you wade in and finish this for me, or watch me shiver through the last bundle?