Once upon a time, there was a girl. She was a rather average girl with red locks and blue eyes, and someone who often smelled of flowers and fucking old books that were ripping at the seams because no one smart had ever figured out taping them would make them not fall apart. This girl lived in a tall tower of magnificent height, a tower that would result in someone going splat if they fell off it. She enjoyed frolicking and long walks on the beach and kittens and shit.
One particularly ugly day, she ventured beyond her tower to a rather cruddy part of the nearby town, expecting beautiful sights, and was met with early not soberness across the board. Before she could watch where she was going, a man slammed into her, laughed in her face, and then spewed chunks on her lovely red coat. It was her favorite coat, you see, for it was not an ugly piece of shit like everything else in her closet.
The girl proceeded to consider nailing him in the balls because he deserved it, honestly, and then thought about smearing his own vomit on him, but was far too disgusted to remember to move or even be angry until the man was already gone past her. She learned a valuable lesson that day: don't go into the Bazaar district and expect people wouldn't be drinking at dumb hours, and thus drunk. She stripped, sat on a curb, and wept tears of intense fucking sadness, memorizing the tale of woe to later bestow upon the world.
The end.
EPILOGUE And then she found the man who soiled her coat and threw up on him in retribution.