A grenade juggling hypocrite sheep walked into a wall of testosterone and her first instinct was to roast the flock.
Little did the flock know, twenty-three minutes prior, while sons played throat-roulette and dragons roamed free, that hypocrite sheep was full-on talking to herself.
She was having a heart-to-heart with herself, actually.
DOMINO 18: HOT-ASS MESS TO COLD-ASS CHESS
GREYHALL CROSSING - 7:27 PM
She scrubbed hair and body at lightspeed.
"Twenty minutes to turn from a hot-ass mess into cold-ass chess, Guinevere. Move."
Yes, she had been verbally processing. It was helping.
First aid kit in the bathing chamber. Fresh bandages over the lashes that had lost their cover in her bathing speedrun.
That's when she noticed a dark mark forming under her ribs. It looked exactly like a bruise, which tracked considering she was sore as fuck.
"Add it to the list."
Bathrobe on. Hair down and drying.
Time to make the most important decision of all.
