This just couldn’t be right. It offended against everything I’d ever heard.
“You’re kidding, surely?”
“Why?” Ka’arsnak waved a tentacle. I’d learned this signalled irritation. “What’s wrong?”
“The portal opens into a shower?”
The tentacle waved more vigorously. “You wanted maybe a waterfall? Rainbows? Heavenly choirs?”
“Well, it’s not, you know, dignified. Not believable.”
The choking gargle was its way of expressing sarcastic mirth. “An angel with green skin and eight tentacles you can accept, but not a doorway through a bathroom? Get over it, you’re dead. Time to go. Chop-chop.”
Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise on plot and endings