Went down to Santa Fe, where Renoir paints the walls

It had to be her imagination, surely? Even if it was just a phantom voice on the wind, Sedna bristled, the crystal spikes around her neck standing on end and a low grumble laced the word, her displeasure evident, though it lacked any direct venom. “You!” Tears prickled the backs of her eyes as her stomach flipping again, empty for now, leaving little but the feeling of burning at the back of her throat. She didn’t want to cry, she wanted to be angry! But her raging hormones had other plans as her legs gave out beneath her and she let loose a frustrated sob. “‘S’not fish!” She sniffled and chewed on a mouthful of grass.

It certainly wasn’t supposed to go like this, at least not the way she imagined it. Her mother had always made it look so easy. “So uh,” she tried to get herself back under control, even a little bit. “Surprise?”