Dysnomia “Neptunes nipples,” I mutter to myself. I really want to finish this blanket before Derora gives birth. But the light is too dim for my poor eyesight. “Getting older is a curse. I can’t crochet for hours, my back hurts and my fingers are more crooked than the twigs of a serpentine hazel.” “Talking to yourself again?” Zared rhetorically asks as he enters the room, “I think it’s cute that you do that nowadays. Talking, or more accurately muttering, to myself is one of the most irritating things of being older. I often do it without realising. It frequently leads to over sharing of information. Even though Zared is older than me he is in a far better shape. I continue muttering under my breath ignoring Zared. He walks over and switches on a special reading lamp lamp with a magnifying glass attached we got in the human realm a few months earlier. Before we came to this era of relative peace people didn’t get this old. When I shift, which is rare nowadays, Aminta no longer
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