It’s taken a couple of days, but I’ve finally gotten the newborns settled at the safe house. It’s a 36,000-square-foot house I acquired in Sweden, so they’ve got plenty of room to wander and avoid each other if they have to. They’re struggling with their hunger but it’s to be expected. They’re at least willing to learn control. Either way, taking care of them is definitely keeping me distracted from thinking about a certain gold-glittery mocha-skinned beauty. For thousands of years taking care of newborns was an obligation, now it’s a welcome interference.
While the newborns are doing well, the only person not adjusting – or trying to adjust – is Simon. He picks a fight with everyone and tries to act dominant. Which might go over better if it weren’t for how clueless he is. I’ve been mean
