FaceFic

Damn. They’re close. It’s now or never. I’m out of here. And that’s fine, except… It’s my writing I care about. All this gorgeous stuff I’ve written, all the words I’ve got in me, if only I didn’t have to hide. So I picked you. I need a stand-in. I write it, you sell it. Keep my name out of it, Will. Say it’s yours. Who cares if you can hardly spell your own name? It’s a gravy train. Do it for your old pal Marlowe!

“Durbeyfield? Battle Abbey Roll? Alec?! Who gives a frock! What is it about the West Country anyway? Are you ALL manic depressives or what?” Where was her guardian angel, as he crouched over her beneath the hawthorn-bush? At that precise moment, the gigantic hound leapt suddenly and bore him to the dank, brooding earth. Tess caressed the dog with ill-concealed glee. “My deliverer! Somebody roll up that flag, willya?”

Her name was Chastity, and she was as good as her word, long since betrothed to a handsome Knight. Now she was a prisoner, stripped of her finery and forced into unspeakable acts. Why did her beloved not come?! Hot breath against her skin, again that foul offensive member pressed to her face. This Would End. She bit hard, severing, and the dagger caught her throat. In the distance, a white horse, shining armor.