La Petite Morte

Ethan growled and then called over his shoulder, "Eve, honey? Can you mumble something to Dotty so she understands you're all right?"

"I'm fine, Dotty," a high vocalist dubbed from within the lodgings.

"She could be bleeding to death and afraid you'd hurt her more if she mumbled any—"

"Jesus, Dotty, will you stop worrying?"

The greater vocalist from the other wall of the lodgings yelled, "Be right there."

Ethan didn't stroll aside.

"Well? Can I come in, or what? It's late. I don't wish to disturb the other inhabitants by communicating this in the hall."

"She'll be out in a moment, and there's nothing much to discuss."

"Nothing to discuss? Are you serious?"

Ethan traversed his arms as if coaxing her to walk past. Shortly Eve scurried out to meet them, scraping a sheet draped around her, toga style. Her hair flared in many directions, thanks to static electricity.

"See? I'm perfectly fine." A blush tinted her cheeks.