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"Wow, you've written quite a bit," Guyon whistled, glancing at Beata over his shoulder.
"Don't read it! You can read it when you've written your own," Beata stuck her tongue out.
"I wanted to compare it to how you described our meeting. So that we have a consistent story. Otherwise, it will be awkward."
"Well, it's more or less how it actually happened, but with some adjustments based on your idea."
"Let me see it."
"Alright, alright. But you haven't written anything at all."
"I'm just not feeling inspired. What should I write? Should I whine about my difficult childhood and describe all the horrors I experienced in Lower Lunaria?"
"Why not? I'm sure there will be sick freaks who will even ask for more."
"It would be ironic if my biography became a bestseller in Lower Lunaria for those very reasons... I'm afraid to imagine how many slaves will be tortured in attempts to recreate what's described at home."
"Just add a disclaimer that this shouldn't be replicated at home."
"I already barely agreed to mention my enslavement; you can't take words out of a song. I don't want to dwell on the details."
"Sorry, I went too far."
"It's okay..."