struck out

“I’m alive!” Ben Wolf looked around, deducing he must have hatched from that egg on the dresser in front of him.

“Jewels,” he spoke aloud again, observing the glinty objects also spilling out from the egg. Like stardust.

Better not alert Phyllis Klondike or Phyllis Phox or whatever her name was currently, he thought. Report instead directly to Host Charming, the host with the most. Back in the Old Country. Ahh, yes. Now I can return.

—–

“I’m all mixed up,” he says to Host Charming inside the Mixed Up Castle in Seacliff on the Old Continent. “I must get my bearings.”

“*You* must get your *Bena,*” the often wise prince responded to him, giving his employee a map in his head. But that is a story for another photo-novel. We return to Port Mansfield for a proper plot device in this one…

—–

“There you are,” spoke smoking hot Batty Casey from the bed. “Now shut the door and get in here and make sweet love to me.” But when Firefive compliantly crawled under the sheets there was no one left but Batty. “Hmm,” she wondered, bat swinging around in thin air before her. “Something must have happened.”

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