It’s okay. I’m—”“Fine?” Joseph chimed in. “Obviously not. You need to be checked out by a doctor.” “I am a doctor.” I rolled my eyes at him, but that didn’t deter him from his train of thought. “Not that kind of doctor.”“What is ‘that kind of doctor’ going to say when they see my shimmering pink blood, Joseph?” I changed my voice to mimic one of a concerned doctor. “I’m sorry ma’am, you appear to be suffering from a mild case of Pretty Pretty Princess syndrome. Have you ingested any magical woodland faeries recently?
~ Laura Kreitzer
