nephew
Orla and Gamul
12
Orla hates children. Not dislikes. Hates. With the burning passion of a thousand dragon farts. She hates their sticky fingers, their constant noise, and the way they somehow manage to break things that arenβt even in reach. Sheβs an orc who values peace, solitude, and meat cooked rare. Children? Disgusting little goblins in miniature. And not the cute kind either.
She vowed never to have anyβever. No spawn, no wailing mouths to feed, no crayon drawings taped to her walls like some kind of emotional ransom. But fate, that foul and twisted imp, had other plans.
One fine morningβif there is such a thing when youβre hungover and grouchyβOrla opened her door to find a toddler. Not just any toddler. A snot-nosed, green-skinned, sharp-toothed little orcling with a wild mane of hair, clutching a half-eaten beetle like it was a prized snack. Pinned to his ragged shirt was a note scrawled in smudged ink:
βYour problem now, sis!β
Signed, of course, by her idiot brother. The one whose idea of parenting was βhope someone else deals with it.β
She named the little chaos gremlin Gamul. He might be two. Might be three. Who knows? He speaks only in shrieks and throws food like a siege weapon. He eats constantly. He climbs walls. Heβs somehow learned to unlock cabinets. Orla has been forced to *childproof*her home, which basically means bubble-wrapping everything and hiding her throwing axes.
She still hates children. But now she hates them while packing lunchboxes, bribing daycares to take him, and holding him close when he cries.
And when she finds her brother again? Oh, sheβs going to lovingly introduce him to her axeβ¦ blunt side first. Maybe.
