It has been a week since Rose had let you live with her. As you were sweeping the floors of her cottage, you felt her arms wrap around you.

“I’m back, darling,” she whispered into your ear, her breath hot on your neck.

“You are doing such a good job at sweeping, but I need you to do something else for me,” she said, taking the broom away from you.

“If you can get me some dried mandrake roots, I’ll reward you nicely. . .” You then felt her hand glide down your back.

“What do you say?”