Damsel was tired of being in distress. How tedious! Sure, the knights sometimes turned out to be truly handsome and noble but most of the times they tended to be delusional fools.
There had to be a better profession than this. She knocked on the page. The writer looked askance at her.
"I don't want to be distressed anymore. It is terribly boring and to say nothing of the insipidity."
The writer considered the reply. "Don't you like how these heroes rush to save you, slaying dragons and whatnot to lay their hearts and lives at your feet?"
"No. And you know it as well as I that they don't do it for me. Find me an alternative or I walk out of these pages."
---------------
The writer sank back exhausted. The new story had knights, swashbuckling action, black magic and a happily ever after. With one difference. The princess held a sword.
After signing the tale with a flourish, the writer smiled in triumph. The name gleamed blood red, matching the liquid congealing some distance away from the desk.
'Damsel,' the beautiful signature read.
The End
