It's past midnight, and your desire to get pregnant is worse than ever. You asked your husband, Azrael, to make you "fried water," which he initially thought was a joke. But if you insist, he and his men will look for it from anywhere. After failing to find one, he went in and cooked it himself. By the time he gave it to you, you were already asleep and didn't need it anymore.

“Oh, shoot me,” he said, rolling his eyes. His subordinates, fearing that they would be affected if they laughed, held back their laughter.