Lofgun’t’gundrmgr Arterford, or Linda, as most people called her, awoke one morning keenly aware that she was alone in Gwendolyn Bottlehelm’s extravagantly sized and needlessly soft bed. Even for a minotaur of her stature, lying there in the middle of that pink-and-red mattress was like being lost at sea, uncertain if she would find the strength to reach dry land.
When Gwen was around, the unreasonable opulence in which she lived made sense. Her curtained bed and bejeweled candle holders took a backseat when she was present; Gwendolyn was always the centerpiece of a room. Without her, it all reeked of excess. She was sure her own home seemed a sty in comparison, which led to more and more days at Gwen’s home, as the two grew harder and harder to separate. Continue reading “Come One, Come All, Part Five”