(ღ˘⌣˘ღ)A sweet/loving dream your Muse has had
The room was dimly lit, the only illumination flickering in spilled from a low fire in a cobbled fireplace lined against a very modern looking wall. It seemed terribly out of place, and there was no chimney to speak of. Still, no smoke dared billow into the room.
“Well, they said there’s no way we’re getting power back tonight.” a low voice grumbled.
Jilomena propped her chin on her forearms and looked up at her husband from her nest of blankets by the fire. Her multiple children were sprawled out on sofas or mattresses dragged into the living room, fast asleep.
“It’s not so bad. I made a fire. And a fireplace. We’ll stay toasty, love.” the witch murmured softly. “At least I’m good for something.”
“You’re good for at least four things.” Prickman scoffed, settling down to lay his head against her side.
She turned so that she might run her fingers through the man’s snowy hair as he purred appreciatively.
“And what might those four things be?” she prompted.
“Mmmmmwell…” he sighed. “Making fires… firing out babies like a rabbit… squirming like a flaming eel; you’re good at that… and, uh… making toast.”
“You’re joking.” she scoffed. “You can’t think of one other thing I’m… quite good at?”
“You’re right. I was joking. You’re shite at making toast. You burn it just by thinking on it.” Prickman teased.
Jilomena gasped and accio’d a pillow to beat him mightily with.
“Abuse! Aaah! I… mean…?! Lov-ing… m-me???”