/∞/ is a turbulent place at the best of times. This is not uncommon knowledge.
But she has seen what it is capable of. The sheer quantity of questionable fiction that can be produced when the spirit of lust takes over.
The sports festival has come to a close. An intense, sweat-soaked event loaded with sexual energy - and that’s just for the viewers. Imagine how the participants must feel.
The hard part is already done. The renaissance is assured. All that is left is to nudge it in the right direction.
Merely some simple sentences to assure the result is as desired.
”Fauna was silent the whole time because she was shlicking it just like us!”
”VIRyS using RoboKronii’s body to milk you dry!”
”I’M GOING TO FUCK THIS REAPER”
Just a little more fuel for the raging, throbbing fire.
The hounds of this place will take what she has given them, and they will write. They will draw. They will realise her fantasies for her.
That prolific Francophile even seems to be keeping her grammar advice in mind.
Everything is well.
With that, the cunning stranger leans back from the computer and puts it to sleep.
With absolute poise, she removes her three-feather hairclip and undoes the tiny braid beside it. She gives her head a shake, letting her hair fall into its natural neat bob.
She rises from her seat, calmly unbuttoning her white three-quarter jeans on the way to the bathroom.
Her contributions would need time to cook. Might as well have a nice hot shower while she waits. You know, to wash off the sweat.
And maybe work up another one...