“Gutwulf, will you hold the fragging thing still…”
Circe waved her mascara brush at the goblin in the horned helmet.
“How am I supposed to keep still when a half-dressed siren is using my blade as a make-up mirror?”
“Your problem halfwit. If you hadn’t broken the sea mirror you’d still be raping and pillaging and I’d be back on my rock. But you did break it, and now we are stuck together for seven hundred and seventy seven years.”
Gutwulf considered.
He cut Circe’s throat, deeming death less than the dishonour of life as a ladies maid.
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