I'm so screwed. I'm going to write something now. Because I need to flush all this essay stuff out of my creative glands.

Crystal sprinkled hair smothers my hands everyday, heavy perfume making me sick. My blood never ceases to boil with rage at those sharp smiles she never seems to be without. Her lovely polished horns and those lovely fitted dress make me want to tear at my hair. What a privilege to be the Condesce's personal lady in waiting. A meek aquamarine blooded troll with small horns and an order to be culled. What a fate. What a life. I see riches everyday, riches so bright that my eyes will hurt. She adorns herself with these riches. What a farce.