Thanks to Rochelle’s leadership and Luther Siler’s bizarre photograph, here we are again pretending it’s Friday on a Wednesday. I’m part of the concrit subgroup and your feedback is always welcome whether you are or not.
Elsa pulled at strings and tassels, marvelling at how so little could take so long to remove. Then she showered until the water ran cold.
Her eye fell on the Mail as she dried her hair: “Sex Sells – former prostitutes’ stories”.
She considered reading it, but instead flicked to the entertainment section. There she was: the cartoon princess who’d stolen Elsa’s name and the last shreds of her self-respect.
“Sing for us, Auntie Elsa,” the girls had said after that stupid movie came out.
Elsa threw the paper into the fireplace and did her best to let it go.