Solargirl, real name Lilian Jameson, looked pretty much like the other seven girls in detention. They were all nineteen to twenty-one, and all in the schoolgirl uniform of Darling’s Finishing-Cum-Reform Academy for Secondary School Leavers.

These girls were a representative sample of the students at Darling Academy, all young women who had problems with authority, or, in Solargirl’s view, girls with whom authority had a problem. Many were delinquents, enrolled there to get a lighter sentence. A noticeable minority were hellion heiresses. As a condition of their trust funds, they had to complete at least two terms there. 

Solargirl was the only one at Darling Academy by choice. (The school administration thought she was there to avoid jail time for a shoplifting charge.) She was a superheroine, and part of her job was undercover investigation.

She’d gotten detention because the schoolmasters and mistresses had had much to say about Solargirl’s uniform. In the few weeks she’d been here, her school bowtie was always missing, and she had torn the top button from her shirt, and had rolled up her never-ironed skirt until it was as scandalously short as the other new students at Darling Academy. She had studiously imitated the other girls in this school, specifically the new, “untamed” ones. Being undercover at the school, she needed to fit in, so she slouched contrary to her usually straight posture, and she slurred her words so her teachers could never tell her parents had subjected her to years of elocution lessons. 

Now, in detention, she did not stop studying her seven peers. Like the Indian girl next to her, Solargirl put one foot up on her chair, showing all the other girls her blue panties, and joined them gushing about a Korean pop star. There was no teacher there to scold them into silence, despite detention having started twenty minutes ago.

Solargirl and her seven peers were in a nice, roomy classroom, cozily heated, without litter on the ground or graffiti on the desks. Despite its size, it had only enough desks for a dozen students and their teacher. Nevertheless, the frosted glass windows gave the room a sinister feeling, as though the designer had meant to hide anything happening inside from passersby. 

The room was soundproofed, too. Solargirl had put her ear to the door to hear the tap-tap-tap of any approaching teacher, but she could hear nothing. Equally, no one outside, no matter how hard they strained their ears, could hear inside the classroom the soft, swelling hum of music. The girls themselves could barely hear the music at first, not consciously at least. Solargirl could feel the music shivering in her fingertips and her stomach, but she ignored it. She was just nervous waiting for the teacher.

Gradually, though, the sound became clearer, the warbling, pulsing, luxuriant electronic music. One girl asked her friends if they heard that music. Her friends peeled their ears to hear it, and when they did, they got a little quieter and calmer.

Eventually it got loud enough that every girl could hear it, but it didn’t bother them. In lower, slower voices, the girls continued gossiping and bitching. 

Solargirl thought she might sneak out of the classroom to investigate the school. She laid her hand on the doorhandle.

“Sit properly in your seats and face the board.”

The words peeped out from the music. It was a gentle, authoritative, female voice. The girls all thought they were just hearing things.

Solargirl still gripped the doorhandle. She was going to leave the classroom and investigate. She opened the door a crack.

“Sit properly in your seats and face the board.”

Solargirl closed the door. She was going to sit properly in her seat and face the board. Maybe the supervising teacher would be coming down the corridor when she walked out the door. Solargirl didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself during her investigation. Part of why she’d gotten detention, apart from dress code violations, was for standing up for a student getting caned by a teacher.

When she sat down in her seat, the other girls had done the same. They’d taken their feet off the desks, budged their chairs back to face the front of the classroom, and they all faced the board. None of them wondered what they were meant to be looking at on the board. The board started swirling with soft colours.

“I said sit properly in your chairs,” said the voice. No one could fail to hear it. “Straight backs… Thighs together… Hands flat on laps…”

Each of the three criteria was followed by immediate compliance. Slouched backs jolted straight. Parted thighs slapped together. Dangling hands stretched against laps.

“See. You can obey. Now, I just want you to perform a little speech for me.”

Among the swirling colours of the board, crisp, legible words appeared, and as soon as they appeared, the girls read them out loud, barely even thinking about what they meant.

“I deserve to be here,” the girls said in unison. “I need to be disciplined. I must learn my place. Darling’s Finishing-Cum-Reform Academy for Secondary School Leavers will do what my parents and guardians failed to do. It will make me a proper lady, who acknowledges my betters. I am eternally grateful to Ms Gabriella Darling for lavishing her time on a brat like me.”

The classroom door swung open, and in strode Ms Gabriella Darling, with her tightly done bun, her miniscule pince-nez spectacles, and her never-softening scowl. The crows' feet around her eyes, the wrinkles around her mouth, the little bits of grey in her hair did not make her look old. They made her authoritative. She was a woman in her late forties who, with utmost discipline, had maintained the figure of a voluptuous thirty-something. Her white blouse and black trousers were impeccably tailored to her swelling bust, her narrow waist, and her wide hips.

She was a strict woman, whose glare made girls remember all their sins and misdemeanors. But she was not strict all the time. Ms Darling had to be strict with wilful girls. But what about when those girls had no will at all?

She could afford to be gentle.

The sharp line of her mouth grew into a large smile. Somehow, her lips seemed to grow fuller and redder. With a single, swift tug, she undid her bun, and her brown hair bounced against her shoulders, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. She pulled loose the crimson bow in her collar, and undid the top four buttons of her blouse. With a luxuriant deep breath in, her cleavage strained against her shirt.

Ms Darling walked between the desks, playing with this girl’s hair, patting that girl’s shoulder, pushing her slender finger into this girl’s mouth. Not one of the girls looked away from the swirling colours on the board.

“How are we all, my girls?” asked Ms Darling.

There were uncoordinated responses of “Tired”, “Focussed”, “Obedient”, “Eager”.

“Girls, girls” Ms Darling cooed with theatrical disappointment. “When you address me, what must you call me.”

The girls knew the answer. It had been drilled into them on their first day at the school, not that any of them had cared until now. Darling Academy was very old fashioned. Students were to address every teacher as “Schoolmaster Jones”, “Schoolmistress Jenkins”, or the like. Students were to refer to Ms Darling as, simply, “Headmistress”.

The girls said at once, “We call you ‘Headmistress’, Headmistress.”

“What good girls you can be,” said Ms Darling.

Her high-heels tap-tap-tapped all the way to the front of the classroom. She surveyed her conquests from behind her desk. Laying her palms down on the desk, bending forward so her breasts drooped downwards, she addressed the class.

“Girls,” she said, “all of you require discipline. One of you, however, is in need of my personal guidance.” Her eyes glided across the blank-faced class. 

“You.” She fixed her eyes on Solargirl. “Stand up.”

Solargirl’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood up. Hands by her side, she stared with blank, focussed eyes at the board behind Ms Darling.

Ms Darling placed one hand on her hip. “Tear open the front of that blouse.”

Solargirl was a practised hand at ripping open her blouse. When a supervillain threatened her city, or a kaijuu stomped through the high street, she would tear open her shirt, as she did now. From out of her shirt, her D-cup breasts bounced out, vaccuum-sealed in spandex. Her costume was coloured a glittering gold, apart from two red letters printed on her breasts. They read ‘S’ and ‘G’.

“As I thought,” said Ms Darling before ordering the girl to stand on her desk and strip off the rest of her school uniform.

Solargirl undid the few in tact buttons remaining on her untucked blouse, and she shrugged it off onto the floor. The long-sleeved blouse had always hidden her tanned, muscular arms. She undid her pleated skirt. She had worn blue panties over her legless golden spandex, and they covered far more of her bottom than her costume. With her panties off, the spandex shot down her pelvis in a V before vanishing between her buttocks before emerging at her lower back. Finally, she removed her shoes and her socks. All she had on now was her spandex, sleeveless, legless, moulded to her abdominal muscles and her curves. Her full costume had knee-high boots and elbow-length gloves, but those were hidden in her backpack.

While Solargirl stood bare-foot on her wooden desk, Ms Darling scanned the stapled class register, and eventually found Solargirl’s picture. “Debbie Hills, the girl who enrolled mid-term, just two weeks ago. But, of course, your name isn’t Debbie Hills, is it?”

“No, Headmistress,” said Solargirl.

Ms Darling smirked and shook her head with some admiration. Deep in trance, most girls would have volunteered their real names after that question. Solargirl had a streak of defiance in her.

“Tell me your real name, Solargirl.”

“Lilian Jameson, Headmistress.”

“See how easy it is to be forthcoming, Lily,” said Ms Darling. “Tell me why you are enrolled at my academy.”

“I’d heard rumours about your academy.” 

Solargirl’s voice was emotionless and steady. Perched on her desk, staring dead ahead, she was no longer looking at the swirling colours of the board. But the board and music had already done their work. She stared a thousand miles past the analogue clock at the top of the wall.

She said what had led her to the school. 

The common story went like this. A young delinquent, eighteen to twenty-one, does something stupid, and the police see her doing it. The delinquent’s about to get her first stint in an adult prison, until the judge offers a compromise. Instead of years in prison, the delinquent enrolls for six months in an “experimental tertiary education institution”, Darling’s Finishing-Cum-Reform Academy for Secondary School Leavers. A win for the delinquent, and a win for society. One hundred percent of Darling Academy graduates go on to employment that is gainful, underpaid and back-breaking. Nevertheless, the girls never had any complaints to make about their workplaces, not even in the sixteenth hour of their shift.

If the Academy had limited itself to lowerclass delinquents, perhaps no one would have noticed or cared. (Despite being so deep in trance, Solargirl’s voice picked up an ounce of venom, and her lips tensed, the beginning of a snarl.) 

The adult daughters of the rich and powerful started going missing. It was their friends and social media who would report them missing, never their parents or family. When these heiresses returned to the public eye, they were different. One girl, who had been a vocal critic of her father’s coal mine plans, now interns in the mine’s PR department. 

“Your sense of justice gets you in a lot of trouble,” said Ms Darling. “You were sent to detention because…” Ms Darling peered at Solargirl’s notes on her class register. “You intervened violently when a schoolmistress was applying corporal punishment. That’s your problem, Lily, a sense of justice untempered by respect for authority. Do you now acknowledge that you were wrong to lay hands on a schoolmistress merely applying discipline?”

“No, Headmistress,” said Solargirl, with no hesitation or defiance in her voice. She was stating a fact.

“I was afraid so,” said Ms Darling. “Do the police know you’re here?”

“No, Headmistress.”

“And the Jezebels of Justice, or whatever superhero team you’re a part of now?”

“No, Headmistress.”

“Did you come with anyone?”

Hesitation. “No, Headmistress.”

“No half-truths to teacher, Lily.” 

Before starting this academy, Ms Darling had been a veteran secondary school teacher for over twenty years. Students had the bratty genius of quibbling. They responded to a teacher’s exact words but never their obvious meaning.

“Maybe you did not come ‘with’ anyone. Do you have an ally in my school?”

“Yes, Headmistress,” Solargirl said, and nothing more.

“You are not forthcoming, Lily. I find that very disappointing,” said Ms Darling. “A good schoolgirl does not wait to be asked about every little detail. When a teacher asks a good schoolgirl a question, she will respond with the truth, the whole truth, eager to inform her teacher. Why don’t you want to tell me the whole truth about your ally?”

“She’s… my girlfriend… Headmistress.” 

The answer struggled out of her. Although her trance made her unable to feel any sense of danger, she had the instinct, learned from painful experience as a superheroine, to never reveal personal information.

“And you’re loyal to your girlfriend. An admirable quality, like your commitment to justice,” said Ms Darling. “But just like your sense of justice, your loyalty has no respect for authority. Do you see that as a weakness?”

“No, Headmistress.”

“Get off that table right now, and come in front of my desk,” said Ms Darling.

Solargirl did not jump down. When her second foot lifted off the top of her desk, her power of flight activated, and she floated in front of Ms Darling’s desk. She did not descend to the ground. She remained level with the top of her desk, except now she was hovering in mid-air.

Ms Darling guffawed. It hurt her belly and her chest, and she bent over her desk with laughter.

Solargirl was still blank, staring a few feet above Ms Darling’s head. The girl’s defiance tickled Ms Darling. When she was a secondary school teacher, Ms Darling had hated such defiance. Since she had started Darling’s Academy, and had been expressly allowed by a Ministerial Order to use whatever disciplinary methods she pleased on her eighteen- to twenty-one-year-old charges, she had come to adore brats. It was so much fun to break them.

Ms Darling took off her high heels to more easily climb on top of her desk. She looked down on the hovering student. 

Ms Darling reached out a palm to weigh up one of Solargirl’s breasts, large perky, soft. Just the tips of her long finger nails scratched up the Solargirl’s underboob, flicking the girl’s nipple.

“S,” said Ms Darling, touching the printed letter and letting her finger sink into the breast. Shifting to the other breast, she continued, “G. What do these letters on your breasts stand for, Lily?”

“Solargirl, Headmistress,” she said.

“Incorrect. Wrong. Without basis in fact.” A warm glint simmered in Ms Darling’s eye, as always came when a student gave her an excuse to whip out a cane.”The S and G on your spandex cannot possibly stand for ‘Solargirl’. Solargirl can lift a fire engine in one hand. She can outfly a jet.” Ms Darling smirked and lightly patted Solargirl’s face. “You have none of those powers.”

Solargirl began to wobble in the air, like a drone with a sputtering engine. She managed to stay floating.

“Oh, dear,” said Ms Darling. “Does my little student still believe she can fly?”

Solargirl’s wobbling had gotten more extreme. She jerked her arms out, desperately seeking balance.  

“I… don’t know… Headmistress.” 

And she didn’t know. She was wobbling in the air because every few moments she would forget she could fly, but her muscle memory would keep her afloat and that would be undeniable proof that she could fly. But then, once more, it would slip her mind that she could fly. And so on, and so on.

“The next thing you’ll be saying is that you have super strength,” said Ms Darling. “Why, just one of my fingers is stronger than your whole body.” 

And then Ms Darling pressed the tip of her finger down on the top of Solargirl’s blond head. Solargirl was floating, but Ms Darling’s finger pushed her down as easily as a balloon. Solargirl’s mind remained blank, but the effort she made to stay afloat couldn’t help but show on her face, with its tensed eyes, clenched jaw, and the breaths that pumped with more and more strain from between her teeth. Ms Darling bent at the hips to nudge the superheroine all the way to the floor. Finally, she planted her full palm on the girl’s head and thrust her onto her knees.

Ms Darling sat down on the edge of her desk, grinning down at the kneeling superheroine. With her bare foot, she titled Solargirl’s head upwards to her face.

“You can’t fly, can you, Lily?”

“No, Headmistress.”

“And you’re weaker than a kitten?”

“Yes, Headmistress.”

“So you can’t possibly be Solargirl, isn’t that right?” And when Solargirl wouldn’t answer right away, Ms Darling parted the girl’s lips with her big toe. “You are not Solargirl. Isn’t that right?”

“Thash’right, Head’istress,” Solargirl said while Ms Darling’s toe pulled down her lower lip.

Gently kicking each of Solargirl’s breasts in turn, Ms Darling asked, “So what do the ‘S’ and ‘G’ stand for?”

“I don’t know, Headmistress.” There was no hesitation. She knew they absolutely did not stand for Solargirl, but she had no idea what they did stand for.

“Let your headmistress enlighten you,” said Ms Darling. “They stand for ‘Sheep’... ‘Girl’... You are Sheepgirl. Who are you, Lily?”

“I am Sheepgirl, Headmistress.”

“And do you know why you don’t give a damn that you can’t punch through concrete, or fly faster than a peregrine falcon? It’s because you have a superpower that’s so much more valuable than all that. Given the choice between Solargirl’s powers and Sheepgirl’s powers, you’d pick Sheepgirl’s any day of the week. Do you want to know about your superpower, the one you have such pride in?”

“Yes, Headmistress.” 

Since Sheepgirl had admitted that she couldn’t fly, that she couldn’t even fight back against Ms Darling’s finger, there’d been a hollow, shameful feeling gnawing inside her belly. She’d felt so useless as a superheroine. But now Ms Darling was telling her she had a power, and that it was more valuable than flight and superstrength.

“Isn’t it obvious?” asked Ms Darling. “You’re Sheepgirl, the perfect little sheeple. You are the perfect servant of the establishment. You effortlessly respect authority, no matter how incompetent or corrupt. Isn’t that an amazing superpower, Sheepgirl?”

Ms Darling almost admired the girl for staying silent. Of course, it would have been more impressive if the girl had said, “No”, but Ms Darling had already softened and remoulded her mind too much. Those blank eyes projected no struggle, but the mere fact that the girl couldn’t answer meant there was a war going on in her heart of hearts. She couldn’t answer because right now she really didn’t know if being a sheeple was a good thing.

Ms Darling would nudge her towards the truth.

“Do you remember your favourite teacher when you were young, Sheepgirl. Who were they?”

“Mrs Clark, Headmistress.”

“And I’m sure a good girl like you got a lot of praise from Mrs Clark. I’d wager that you even did little things she never asked for, just so you could make her happy. Tell me about a time you did something just for the joy of pleasing Mrs Clark.”

Sheepgirl told Ms Darling about a day when the other students had made a terrible mess in the classroom. It was the last day of term, and as soon as the bell rang, the other students had dashed home for the holidays. Lilian stayed behind because she saw how disappointed and distraught Mrs Clark was. Lilian and Mrs Clark stayed in that classroom, tidying and cleaning, until it was dark outside.

“And how did Mrs Clark praise you for your good behaviour?” asked Ms Darling.

“She put her hand on my shoulder and called me her favourite student, Headmistress,” said Sheepgirl.

“My favourite student.” Ms Darling stretched out each word as long and sweet as taffy. From her seat on the edge of her desk, Ms Darling bent forward to lay her hand on Solargirl’s shoulder. “Tell me, my favourite student, about how good Mrs Clark’s praise felt.”

“I felt proud, Headmistress. I felt appreciated… I was so tired, but she was smiling at me, and I just felt… warm… Headmistress.” 

The girl’s eyes were getting dewy. Even so blank and mindless, powerful memories have their effects.

“Focus on that feeling, Sheepgirl. Hold it in your heart and your belly. You love this feeling, don’t you? You’d do anything to recapture this feeling, wouldn’t you?”

Sheepgirl’s lips were trembling. “Yes, Headmistress.”

“And that’s why you’re so happy to be Sheepgirl. When you go out of your way to please an authority figure, their praise, their happiness, means more to you than anything in the world. How happy are you to be the perfect sheeple?”

“I’m so proud, Headmistress. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be, Headmistress.”

“What would you do if Madam Mayor ordered you to strip naked and walk you around the park like her pet dog?”

“I’d tear off my clothes, Headmistress, and put the collar on my neck myself. I’d do tricks, I’d play fetch, I’d play nice with the other dogs. I’d be the best dog Mayor Domina ever had, Headmistress.”

The girl was eager now. Her face and voice were still mainly flat and dull, but strong emotions had a way of showing themselves subtly, like the rumble of a dam about to burst. It would be safe for Ms Darling to wake Sheepgirl up, allowing her back her critical thinking. But first…

“I’m now talking to every girl other than Lily. Can you hear me, girls?”

The other seven girls all responded, “Yes, Headmistress,” some promptly, some sleepily, one of them even answered in her native Chinese.

“You are good students. You do as your teacher says. Do you understand, girls?”

“Yes, Headmistress,” the seven girls said.

Those few commands were not enough to fully tame the girls, Ms Darling knew. It would keep them manageable for the next hour or so, however.

“Girls,” said Ms Darling. “Lily, too. When I clap my hands three times, you will be wide awake.”

Ms Darling clapped one, two, three times, and each pumped a little life into the girls’ eyes, until the third clap popped them out of sleep.

“Oh my God.” The brats were already whispering to each other. “Is that Solargirl?”

Sheepgirl was still kneeling in front of Ms Darling’s desk, staring up at her beloved teacher.

“I’d know that butt anywhere,” whispered another girl. “How can the slut stand it with her spandex wedged up her crack?”

“Hey, blondie,” said a black girl. She had to slap the table five times to wrest Sheepgirl’s attention from Ms Darling. “Blondie. Are you really Solargirl, or are you just some nerd cosplayer?”

Sheepgirl scoffed, almost offended. “I’m not Solargirl.” She stood up and spun around to face the girl, the ‘S’ and ‘G’ on her breasts swaying and jiggling. “I am… Sheepgirl!” 

The girls giggled at Sheepgirl. The dork looked so up herself, with her legs splayed and her hands on her hips.

“Oh, yeah?” said a Chinese girl. “And what can Sheepgirl do? Baa?”

“Yeah, yeah, do you get horn-y?” The black girl laughed at her own joke. “Do you like a good ram?”

“Do you need to shear your legs every hour?” said an Indian girl.

Twenty years as a teacher urged Ms Darling to scold the girls for bullying the poor dear. Ms Darling did not intervene, though. If she told them directly to stop teasing, they would stop. Ms Darling wanted to see how Sheepgirl would stand up for herself.

Luckily, Sheepgirl did not look in the least offended. She was far too proud of herself, so sure of the value of her new powers, to care what her bratty peers thought. 

“You’re all wrong,” said Sheepgirl. “I am the Shining Sheeple, the Sunny Servant of Society, able to obey a superior with a gleaming smile, willing to swallow propaganda in a single gulp. I am… Sheepgirl!”

The seven girls had never heard something so stupid. They laughed, they banged the desks, they called her all kinds of names. Ms Darling saw this persecution did not at all affect Sheepgirl, who looked at her peers with haughty condescension.

“Girls, girls, before you mock our class’ superhero, perhaps she should show off her powers,” said Ms Darling. 

Sheepgirl was already back on her knees, rubbing her cheek adoringly against Ms Darling’s calves. So long as her teacher, and her superiors, believed in her, all her equals could go to Hell.

“I know the code of honour among students and criminals: no snitching,” said Ms Darling. “The ‘bravest’ among you would sooner spend five months in detention before tattling on a buddy. For instance, you, Simone, you’re in detention because you refuse to reveal who scrawled graffiti on Schoolmistress Martinez’s car.”

“Yeah,” said the black girl, Simone. “That’s ‘cause I’m not a snitch.”

“But do you know who is a snitch?” Ms Darling sauntered to the side of Sheepgirl. “Our class superheroine. If a teacher tells her to tattle, she tattles. No ifs, ands, or buts, or bratty little moral dilemmas about ‘loyalty’ and ‘trust’. So…” 

Ms Darling rolled around to Sheepgirl’s front, and held her cheeks between her palms.

“You have an ally in my school, don’t you, Sheepgirl?”

Sheepgirl could have technically answered the question with terse ‘yes’ or ‘no’. But Sheepgirl wasn’t Solargirl. Sheepgirl didn’t hide behind half-truths and quibbling answers. Her headmistress had asked a question, and Sheepgirl would give her every detail she could possibly want.

Sheepgirl’s superhero girlfriend had infiltrated the school a few days before her. Feline, real name Yumiko Kizaru, was just nineteen-years-old, but she was armed with five-hundred years of her clan’s ninjutsu training. While Sheepgirl went undercover as a student, Feline would hide in the shadows, and the rafters, and sometimes the lockers, spying on conversations, pilfering documents.

Ratting out Feline gave Sheepgirl a bit of pause. This was not because she felt guilty about betraying her lover. In telling the story, Sheepgirl remembered that she herself had infiltrated Ms Darling’s school, and that she had been intent on exposing Ms Darling’s ‘crimes’. But how could Sheepgirl have ever considered that her Headmistress was doing anything naughty?

“Don’t worry about it,” said Ms Darling, and so Sheepgirl didn’t worry about it.

“Ratgirl,” muttered the black girl.

“Yes, I am a rat!” said Sheepgirl. “Better than being a… a…” 

What was an animal that lied? None of them spoke to begin with, except… 

“Better than being a lying parrot!”

The girls giggled at Sheepgirl, and cringed at how pathetic she was.

Ms Darling brushed right past the exchange. “Sheepgirl, you’re being such a good snitch. But I want you to tell me more. I’m going to give you the opportunity to make your girlfriend helpless in my hands.”

“Please, Headmistress,” said Sheepgirl. “I’ll tell you anything.”

“What is Feline’s biggest weakness?” But before Sheepgirl could open her mouth, Ms Darling pressed two fingers to Sheepgirl’s lips. “Not just yet. I think someone else will be very interested in your answer.” She whipped around to face the door, and shouted, “Bring her in!”

The classroom door opened, and a muffled voice spilled into the room. The mouth of the voice’s owner was taped shut, so no one could make out a single word. But the violence of the grunts made it clear that what she was saying wasn’t pretty. 

Two burly security guards wheeled in a rectangular, stainless steel frame. From each corner of the rectangle, shackles restrained the wrists and ankles of the female prisoner. 

The prisoner hung spread-eagle in the metal frame. She had been stripped naked, wearing nothing but the tape across her mouth. Although the manacles and links were made of steel, the prisoner pulled and struggled, which only served to make her D-cup breasts jiggle and jostle.

Ms Darling continued, “Sheepgirl, I’m sure that Feline would love to hear you reveal her greatest weakness.”