“I’m not overdosing. And it’s not my fault if someone trolls me. Don’t overreact.”
…She feels bad about offending an angel. Not good. Really not good.
Poliamuel flutters down to place a scroll on the cushions near Leandré’s free hand. At first it’s no bigger than a rolled up postage stamp, but in seconds it swells into a handsome cylinder capped with a sliver crown.
I’ve got nothing to hide…except that I have an angel who helps me play my cello.