Chapter Eighty-Nine:
Flesh Reverent, Rhythm Divine: The Tentacle, the Dance, and the Girl Who Didn't Sleep
—
Some indefinite stretch of time later—still stained with psionic awe and spiritual confusion—the sliding door to the VIP suite hissed open like it was trying not to interrupt whatever cosmic crime was being committed within.
"Irvine, a little birdie told me you were—whoa. What the actual fuck is that?" came Keyla's voice, struck dumb with sensory overload.
Her eyes fell upon the object. The object. The severed tendril of Crystal—Hive Queen, Star-Eater, and source of all unspeakable affection—coiled possessively around my torso like a living boa of love and eldritch ownership. Her mouth dropped open. Her salivary glands declared war on restraint.
"Irvine, babe. No seriously. What the fuck is that? Because if it's what I think it is, I'm gonna need a mop, a drink, and probably several weeks of therapy."
