An understated, but bright pink car pulled up outside the venue for the party. With a squeak a Hobbit popped out- impatient to get partying she had used the window. As the cameras started flashing she fell over.
NO! They'll all have pictures of me on the floor. Red carpet nightmare! thought Lyra with a groan. Lyra? I could have sworn I was called Ellie a minute ago!
Pondering the strange things that can go in a feverish imagination, Lyra got up and began to run full tilt at the door, her dark green dress billowing behind her. At least I didn't change to Mara she thought with a shiver.
"Any weapons?" asked an ugly looking Orc at the door. Can't be... Lyra thought. There was something disturbingly familiar about him. The Orc turned to his bigger and uglier companion. "'Ows Courtney, bruv?" It is!
"Excuse me, Mr Orc is your name by any chance Phil?" The snarl reminded her why they were the most hated creatures in middle earth. Well, except Orli-lovers and shieldmaidens. Mental note: Pretend my name is Took... Casting a last stare around at the placard waving half-elf, orphaned shieldmaidens protesting for the use of magic in RPGs, she walked in.
Wow! Music, lights, colour, very strange people... It was a lot for the Hobbit to take in. She gazed around. Over here, a stereotypically good looking Elf with a gaggle of girls drooping all over him. Over there, a strange man covered in saucepans. Perhaps he's a descendent of the Gardners. I heard they all like to carry saucepans and frying pans around all the time... And all over, couples. Mumbling to herself under her breath about Elves who hit the big-time, got blonde wigs and started going out with Christina Ricci, Lyra stomped off to get a drink.
Happy couples everywhere and nobody talking to a poor deserted Hobbit. And I have to keep using these damn italics to show I'm thinking to myself! she mused angrily. I need to cheer myself up. I know! A conga! With a cheery smile, Lyra began a strange solitary conga to the dulcet tones of, err, Pink. Well you can't have everything!
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“Sylphs of the forest,” I whispered. “Spirits of oak, beech and ash. Dryads of Rowan and hazel, hear us. You who have guided and guarded our every footstep, you who have sheltered our growth, we honour you."
the Forbidden Link
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