Accusations and Anger

"Would you rather see each other every day, or write postcards every week and never see each other again?"

"Option A, darling. I know I was gone a little too long this time." Salomon tried to drown himself in the soft pillows. He felt that he needed a little help from whiskey. He reached for the glass on the table with a trembling hand, but the Witch saw through his intentions. She knew Salomon's little private habits too well. No matter how commanding the Arcanist was outside, he always revealed his true nature before her. Bayonetta pressed down his hand and leaned over to look into his eyes.

Her eyes were like leaden storm clouds before a tempest, reminiscent of tall nettles whipped by fierce winds beneath midnight moonlight, pregnant with cold gusts and lightning. The tips of her raven-wing-black hair lightly tickled Salomon's nose. Like all lovers in the world, he and the Witch had their quarrels. Sometimes they were over trivial things, like what sauce should go with steak, but every problem was resolved in the unique way lovers did, with alcohol, cigarettes, and stockings.

Salomon sensed the flickering magical aura. The Witch had cast a spell first. Though he had not seen her movements clearly, he guessed it was Witch Time, a spell that allowed Bayonetta to perform many actions within an extremely short span of time.

The Witch had trapped herself in her own cocoon, and he won the first round. But there were still many battles to deal with over the next five hours. This Renaissance antique bed had endured far too much; hopefully, it could hold up. Reproduction was the key factor in humanity's occupation of Earth. If humans had not bred like rabbits, they could never have used surplus labor to create a