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... beverage he had no chance of obtaining back in his demesne, but nowadays the taste of first-class booze flowing down his throat felt all too familiar.

He noisily belched out the sweet fragrance of the ale as he set down the large mug, with half of its contents still remaining, back onto the table. If this was one of those wooden mugs he was so used to, he would’ve slammed it on the table without a thought, but he wouldn’t dare do so with the porcelain stuff.

However, even if he did ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

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