“Drink your tea, okay love? Don’t just let it sit there and grow cold.”

Caitlyn scolds you in a motherly manner, reaching over for the sizzling hot mug that’d been sitting there for well over five minutes. She tips it over your lower lip, allowing the honeyed nectar to slide down your tongue and into your sore throat.

You squirm uncomfortably, but swallow anyways. It’ll help you feel better, faster, so there’s no point in fussing about it.

“You think Violet made this for you in vain?” she jokes, brow raised as she watches your throat bob. Signifying you have, indeed, swallowed the hot drink.

The woman mentioned is even kitchen making dinner for the three of you—something that’ll be easy on your raw windpipes, but also filling so you’ll last the night.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”