2:44 a.m., hallway.
Moonlight slants through a cracked window. Lilith sits in perfect stillness atop a closed laundry basket. Her eyes glow faintly. She speaks.
Lilith: “Beware the third bowl. It brings only regret.”
Charlotte (from the shadows, flaring with fury): “WHAT THIRD BOWL?? We have two. ONE for dry. ONE for wet. WHERE IS THE SECRET BOWL?!”
Lilith (blinks slowly): “It appears when you are weakest. It smells like betrayal, regret… and gravy.”
Tartiflette (upside down, under the couch): “I ATE OUT OF IT!!! Am I cursed?! Or just full?! I CAN’T TELL!!”
Luna (grabbing her logbook): “There was no report of a third bowl. That violates pantry protocol and, oh gods, is this about the Tupperware incident?!”
Willow (yawning): “I don’t get it. Is this a metaphor? Can we go back to bed? My joints are threatening to unionize. And I am a dog, I don’t do feline drama”
Ziggy (looking at a mop): “…I think this is the third bowl.”
Lilith (deadpan, unmoving): “The mop is not your destiny.”
Ziggy (whispers): “…yet.”
Charlotte (practically vibrating): “Are you saying there’s A PROPHECY about our BOWLS? Are we in danger?! Are you the danger?!”
Lilith (tilting her head toward the shadows): “It is already happening.”
[All look around in a panic. Nothing happens. The sock that is always wandering around falls off a shelf. Tartiflette screams.]
Luna: “Lilith, with love, WHAT IS HAPPENING?”
Lilith: “You will understand… after the pawprint appears.”
Charlotte (stalking away): “If I find that third bowl, and by Odin, I will, I’m throwing it in the trash and summoning a raccoon.”
Tartiflette: “Can I be the raccoon?!”
