Chapter Fourteen
The nightmare has begun. No, nothing to do with the Morrigan or Angus.
I’m having to wear a dress. A monstrosity. Tight, frilly, far too large a neckline. My boobs are practically falling out of it, held back only by a small band of lace.
Why do Gods have such a terrible fashion sense? They’re all about showing as much skin as possible while also showing wealth and importance with the quality of the fabrics.
Tamara is giggling loudly while I inspect myself in the mirror.
“I’m going to flash Gods,” I mutter, trying to adjust the inbuilt – but almost non-existent – bra.
“It will help, they’ll like that,” Tamara snorts and I shoot her an evil look. I’m tempted to give her the finger as well, but I’ve learned they don’t have that gesture here in the Realm.
“I don’t like
