Clorabella needs help
This person was sitting at a table, typing away like fury on an ancient computer (so ancient that there were pedals under the table to keep it going). This person was wearing a pair of enormous spectacles and appeared to be utterly oblivious to what was going on around her. A printer, which was balanced precariously on a pile of books, chugged away, pouring printed pages out of the top.
Clorabella who was not a person to hold back, strode over to her.
‘And just what may I ask, am I doing here? I take it this is entirely your fault.’ It wasn’t really a question.
‘Shhh!’ said the Writer. ‘You’re interrupting the flow!’
‘I simply do not care what I’m interrupting,’ said Clorabella, in the special voice she used when she wanted to be particularly terrifying towards her magazine editors. The Writer appeared to be unimpressed.
‘Shhhh,’ she explained again.
‘Do you know who I am?’ hissed Clorabella, by now seething with rage.
‘Yes, yes of course,’ said the Writer, still not paying her any attention. ‘I put you here!’
‘You did what?’ Clorabella was so flabbergasted that she actually sat down.
‘Yes,’ said the Writer, finally looking up. ‘Well to be strictly accurate, I wrote you and then the reader chose you to be in the story. That’s why you’re here.’
Clorabella, for once in her life, was silenced.
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