April 13th, 2009: In which Eowyn finally discovers The Littlest Edward's secret occupation. Also: Edward Cullen, poetry critic.
Eowyn had no intention of doing any such thing. The moment she rounded the corner, she stopped. The sword went a bit slack in her hand. "What the hell," she said.
"You wanted to know where he's been," I said, a bit perplexed. "Well, here he is."
"What the hell. What is this."
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Notes
- The reason this entry took so long to write was that I had the hardest time coming up with a poem that was theoretically "good" enough for Eowyn to fall in love with, yet "bad" enough to be funny. So there I was for like three days trying to cram Tolkien pastiche into Byron's "She Walks in Beauty." Good idea, there.
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