Having succubuns tend to the ambrosia flowers, as opposed to leaving it to Dove and Beany and Primrose and any other fallen friends for eternity, was not Primrose’s idea. Juno can tell in the way he looks down at her, almost sneering, arms folded, somehow more irritation in his face than usual, as though her very presence here is a blight on his gardens. He must revel in the height difference. Her size makes her good for picking up into a hug and spinning around, for fondly rufflin...
