maudlin

malady

army of them, alternate versions of the children they already had, pink and clean and healthy and strong, a new world order because the old world was so out of order. Amanda propped herself up on her elbows. The stuff slid down her like a snail on a sedge, onto that beautiful white duvet. Clay was out of breath. Fucking her like that was like

suds,

implacable,

PALLIATIVE.

volition

mollified,

quotidian