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  • Dory felt like a wet blanket. She’d overdosed on colours in the shawl and cape shop, and had to lie down in the back room. As she waited for the room to stop spinning, sprawled on a rather smelly old sofa that seemed more like a glukenitch bed than a sofa, she listened to various snatches of ... · ID #174 (continued)
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Reply To: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler

Forums Yurara Fameliki’s Stories The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler Reply To: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler

#3541
ÉricÉric
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    Funny thing was, none of this would be possible, if not for Liz’ impeccable release of new literary works. Despite her feigned struggles, she managed to release them like clockwork.
    Prolific line-pissing writers like King had nothing to envy to her. She would document and expound on nearly every bit of news passing. As a matter of fact, most of her morning rituals were to document the press review, and make clippings out of the most absurd or mundane events, and somehow, weave enthralling tales with it.

    The last past years had been the most flourishing ones, mostly focused on tales of social responsibility in magical gardens, civil disobedience in cetacean societies, and financial collapse of ayahuasca economy based Amazonian tribes.

    Well, to be honest, the magic had to be left to the Finnleys. It was nor the endless cleaning nor the unnerving bluster that had them resign. It was mostly that they were literary agents in cover aspiring to more than a life of cleaning. For what Elizabeth had as gift of prolixity, all the Finnleys were hired to put it all together, while sworn to secrecy.
    Of course, with each best-sellers, they had to find a new one most of the time.

    Despite the occasional ill-temper, all of it seemed now like a well-oiled machine.
    However, Godfrey was growing concerned about the last one of the Finnleys. Very concerned.

    Daily Random Quote

    • Dory felt like a wet blanket. She’d overdosed on colours in the shawl and cape shop, and had to lie down in the back room. As she waited for the room to stop spinning, sprawled on a rather smelly old sofa that seemed more like a glukenitch bed than a sofa, she listened to various snatches of ... · ID #174 (continued)
      (next in 00h 17min…)

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