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“Do everyone a favor and set the sun, would you?” A finger pokes his cheek, prodding and sinking into his skin.
One beat passes. Two. Three. Then four and five and six.
The other shifts, grass laced with drops of dew furling beneath their shoes. “I know you aren’t really asleep.”
Grian sighs and one narrow eye cracks open. There are three things that instantly draw his attention. First, the glare of light beaming down, radiant as it breaches over the horizon and sways and dances in the clear sky, void of any clouds. The second, bundles of ripe, nitid plums brim with sweet nectar dangle scattered across sturdy tree branches. Its leaves are stained emerald and verdun and moss green. So thin one could view through the chartreuse-tinted lenses if they so wished to. The third, his sister, Pearl staring down at him, head parallel to his. Long, ash-brown hair falls gracefully on either side of his head.
Or: Three times Grian and Pearl nearly reveal their godly status and successfully keep it hidden from Hermitcraft. One time they almost fail (and are forced to take drastic measures.)
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