© 2026 – J.B. Norman, published by Emona Literary Services
“Gah!” Kat cries as the door bursts open, cruelly flung her pre-mid-afternoon nap nap.
“Terribly sorry to disturb, Miss Kat,” a familiar and unwelcome voice says. “I have need of you.”
Cautiously eyeing the eminent playwright Sir Sandford Whitehead, Kat begins feeling around her beloved plaid couch for something to fling at him and hopefully banish his evil forever.
He’s probably a perfectly nice guy. But as far as she’s concerned, since he’s always popping in unannounced to force Kat to not only act his plays, but usually to act as a dude, he is absolutely, positively, utterly, irrevocably, history’s-greatest-monster levels of evil.
“Let me guess,” Kat mutters. “You’re putting on a play?”
The playwright nods. “Indeed I am.”
“And you need me—”
The playwright nods.
“—to be the main character? The male main character?”
The playwright nods.
“Yeah,” Kat sighs. “Of course you do.”
“Just so, my good man,” he says, faltering as he catches himself. “My, uh, good wo-man.”
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