Hello everyone I’m Doug you narrator. I’m not really a narrator. I’m a librarian but I don’t show up in the story for a long time. But while the author Rose is off working on the chapter 45 I’m trying to clean up this mess, first off Lu aka Lupinia is a bard, not an author. Why did anyone let her write the first section. She is a wonderful bard, though not a great author.
My advise and Rose’s the author is skip to chapter 8 that’s really the start of the journey. Some stuff happens in the first seven chapters but Rose really needs to revise, revise, revise.
“Why is this important?”
Rose’s Grandma has been saying for years that she’s afraid that soon she must depart. I wonder. From what I can see she’s strong as an ox and twice as stubborn.
I made it out into the forest before Rose today. I’d know I could smell her sweet scent from miles away, and that’s important because now I can leave a basket of apples, very healthy apples—an apple a day for a pie, I think that’s the saying. Along with the apples, I leave a bottle of very expensive vitamins. I put them on the mat by the front door. I’m trying to get Granny really healthy so that Rose has enough free time and might become my friend. I never go into granny’s house because she has wolfbane hanging all over the place.
Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Lupinia DeCais, but call me Lu. They tell me I’m pretty with long reddish auburn hair and a trail runner's body, but I’m nothing next to Rose with her jet black hair and stunning figure and angelic face. I’m the town bard, so you’ll often find me at night in one of our many fine taverns here in Tranquility. I usually only take a few days off per month; the taverns provide my food, bed, and ale in return for me singing the Histories Of Old. I’m supposed to sing the Deeds Of The Day as well, but I have a tough time rhyming, so I usually just stick to the oldies. It took me a long time to learn them, so I better get some use out of them.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Oh, I smell her. She smells great today. She just entered the forest. I lope silently to the path she always uses. I’d know I follow her every day, not that she’d know that. I’m always hidden, just watching. I keep her safe. Last week a bear caught her scent and the baked goods she carries in her basket and readied to charge, but I put myself between the bear and her, showed the bear my canines, and tried to look mean. It worked. After a while the bear got bored and waddled off.
“How’s the novel coming along?”
I spent the morning working on my novel. I think the way I combine radical feminism with bodice-ripping romance is really working out well. My love interest is a wolf and a rake, and I can feel the sexual tension in my own body when Damon enters the scene. How fortunate is Juliet that she can exist in a world with the perfect Damon, and yet she holds back? He wants to ravish her, right there in the drawing room. Oh, stupid Juliet, let him, let him, if only so I can live vicariously through you. Oh, how I want a man like Damon, a strapping body, looming over me, yes, yes.
“Rosie, Rosie, the cookies are ready!”
“Yes, Ma, I am coming.”
“Rosie, are you all right? You look a little flushed.”
“I’m fine, Ma, I was working on my novel.”
“How’s it coming, dear?”
“It’s coming along. Do you think I could go to Wyldwood when it’s done and have that wizard publish it?”
“Sure, dear, but you’ve been working on it for years. Do you have much more to go?”
“It’s a delicate balance between feminism and romance. For it to work, it has to be just perfect. I still have a few things to be jiggered around.”
“Well, here’s the basket, and be sure to say hi to granny for me.”
Why do we have to live in such a backwater town? The only burly man we have in town is the butcher, and I’d never want him looming over me.
