Bombom sighed. "So, she's just a spoiled adult?"
"I believe you could put it like that, sir," James nodded. "But please, follow me. You must all be hungry after your long journey."
He led them into a dining room so vast it could have hosted a royal ball. A single, impossibly long table stretched across the room, set for three. The moment they sat down, a chef in a tall white hat and his entire kitchen team emerged, lining up before them.
"Hello, Madame," the chef said with a flourish, addressing Bombom. "What would you like to eat?"
Bombom's eyes widened in surprise. "We get to choose? Oooh, I'm liking this already." He looked at Flora, then back at the chef. "I'm a guy."
The chef's professional smile faltered for a second. "My deepest apologies, sir! I thought... please, forgive me. Most femboys we've had the honor of serving prefer to be addressed with female pronouns."
Bombom sighed, the familiar frustration bubbling up. "I'M NOT ONE! I MEAN, I LOOK LIKE ONE, BUT I'M NOT!"
