Mums, eh? Can’t live with ‘em, literally can’t live without ‘em. Sadly, some take this as a certificate of ownership, allowing them to subject their offspring to the worst things imaginable, like offering them as a guinea pig to a class of trainee hairdressers. A perfect storm of nerves and scissors. Sorry, I should probably keep this for therapy. The point I’m getting to (ignoring the ones jammed into my 11-year-old head) is that whatever their faults, no mother has anything on Othercide’s matriarch, birthing an army of warrior daughters to fight a flood of meat monsters. No thermal spa voucher for her next Christmas.
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