I'm a character.

That's right, a character. You're probably pretty familiar with me. You read about my kind all the time, and many of you probably use me pretty often.

I don't have a name yet, and I'm not quite sure of my history. Those'll depend on my story - they're up to my author. What I do know is that I have brown eyes, frizzy red-orange hair, and I'm kinda plain, but if you think that makes me ugly - well, you can go to hell.

No! Don't say that! That's not a nice word!

Who the hell's talking to me?

Stop cursing!

First tell me who you are!

I'm your author.

Finally, my author's here! So what's my story going to be, I wonder?

You come from the land of Middle Earth, where—

Wai-wai-wait. Middle Earth? That's not yours. That's Tolkien's. You can't take it.

Yes I can. He's dead; he won't mind. Besides, I'm writing a fanfic.

A fanfic? Oh, God, save me!

Not God. Eru. He's the supreme power in Middle Earth.

Please, oh, please, don't make me come from Middle Earth. Please? Will she listen? …Damn. No good.

Stop cursing!

I'll curse whenever I damn well please. Are you going to start your stupid fanfic now?

It won't be stupid. And yes. To begin with, we can't have you looking like that.

What the hell is wrong with my appearance?

You're not pretty enough.

Damn you!

I'm your author. It's up to me. Why are you so obnoxious? I meant my heroine to be sweet and gentle and kind!

Oh, your heroine, am I? I belong to you, do I? Well, yes, master, I'll just adjust every facet of my entire being to make your stupid fanfic work the way you want it to.

To begin with, brown is an extremely boring eye color. No half-elven princess has brown eyes.

No. I refuse to be an elf. I hate elves.

I think… hm… what would be pretty…

Did you hear me, woman? I said I refuse to be an elf!

Ooh, purple! That should be nice!

No! Purple is stupid! I absolutely refuse to— OW! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING TO ME?!

I'm changing your eye color.

WELL IT HURTS, DAMMIT, SO STOP!

There. Now you have beautiful, deep violet eyes. All the guys will love them. But we'll have to fix that hair of yours.

No. Oh, no, you don't. I like my hair.

Don't be silly.

I'm not being silly! Can't I have frizzy orange hair? What's wrong with it?

It's ugly. And it clashes with your eyes.

Well, it didn't when they were brown!

Here, let me make it longer. And that frizz has to go - curls are better - and… yes, I think silver should be a nice color.

OW! OW! OW! STOP THAT! I'LL KILL YOU!

There. And let me dress you… hm… a long, flowing, violet-blue dress to bring out your eyes… with silver embroidery to match your hair…

You expect me to walk around normally in an ankle-length dress?

I expect you to fight in it. You are an eleven warrior princess, after all.

My jaw drops. She's got to be kidding me. Now, I'm not bad at fighting - especially hand-to-hand combat; I'm tough enough to club people down - but fighting in a dress? And AUGH! What's happening to me? I'm getting all - all spindly! My waist is going to snap with the weight of my upper body! There can't be room for more than half a stomach in there!

You don't need a big stomach, anyway. You eat like a bird.

I beg to differ. I eat like a pig. Like a pig after a ten-year famine.

No, you don't. And here, take this elegant elven bow and this knife.

That's Sting. It belongs to Bilbo, and later Frodo.

No, it isn't. It's a different blade. It's called Serenity.

Serenity? Gag me!

It glows blue when orcs are near.

That's Sting.

No, it isn't. Yours does too.

But Frodo's is supposed to be special!

Frodo has other things to make him special.

I guess he does have the Ring, but still—

OH YEAH! That reminds me! I have to give you your ring!

My ring? For a minute, I pause. She's probably talking about some stupid extra lost ring that has great powers and will shift the focus of the story further away from Frodo - who's Frodo? Oh yeah, the main character… - and give me all sorts of supernatural elf-princess powers. But maybe - just maybe - I barely dare imagine it.

A wedding ring?

I try not to think it, but the daydreams slip in before I can stop them - a little cabin in the mountains, safe under the shadow of a cliff, perhaps by a little lake, surrounded by redwood trees… I'm sitting on the porch swing, my - I try out the word - my husband - is next to me, his arm is around my shoulders… He's - he's laughing, chatting with me… He shows me a little scrap of wood, he's whittled it into the shape of a heart… A couple kids are scampering around, playing with some rocks that they've decided are people… The four of us, our family, we're planning to have a simple dinner, listen to our son proudly show off the empty bird's nest he found that day and tell us how he got it, listen to our daughter pick out some simple tunes on the flute my husband carved for her on her birthday…

If I had a home like that to come back to, going off on an adventure might not be so bad. I guess I could help the Fellowship. It would be okay. And then once the adventure was over, I'd hurry home to the arms of my family…

Married? You've got to be kidding me!

The sound of her voice startles me, jarring my fragile daydreams out of my hands, where they fall to the ground and shatter.

It is NOT a wedding ring. It's one of the rings of power. Sauron didn't know that the Maiar made another ring after he made his. This one kind of cancels out the One Ring - because you're wearing it, the One Ring can't hurt you, and…

I'm not even listening anymore. I don't even care. I stare off into space dully, wondering if I can just make myself vanish. Character suicide. She'd find a better character, wouldn't she? One with a sweet face and a gentle personality and a brave heart to save Middle Earth, and I'd be left in the character graveyard. Poor, stupid failure character.

What's wrong?

Do you even care?

Oh, is this about the love interest thing? Well don't worry, you're going to HAVE one, I just don't want you to be married at the start of the story.

I perk up my ears just a little, though I know I shouldn't trust her. You can't kill hope, no matter how hard you try.

Will he be nice? I want to know. Will he be patient enough to put up with me? Will he want kids?

Hold up! Let me describe him. I'm still trying to finalize the decision, but I'm thinking Legolas. You know who he is, right?

Legolas… name ringing a bell somewhere… oh, the pretty-boy elf?

He's GORGEOUS. And he's really, really good at archery. And he's really noble and brave and—

But is he nice? And will he want to settle down and have kids?

I don't know. Stop being so picky, okay?

I'm not being picky! I don't care about all those things you listed, I just want him to be nice and to want kids!

I don't know if he does. You'll just have to find out. But you'll like him. He's really handsome. And he'll like you. You're beautiful.

I glance in a mirror - yes, I suppose I am beautiful now. But it's a fake kind of beauty. I don't see myself looking back out of the mirror - I see a strange face, an unusual face, a face that scares me a little. But I won't cry. I'm not going to cry in front of her. I have to hold myself together. I can do it. I look at my new self in the mirror, draw myself up, and lift my chin. I can do this.

That's it! Wonderful. You look great. Now you just need a name.

I always kind of liked Sarah. It's just kind of simple and pretty. Maybe she'll let me…?

Nonono! Sarah is too plain. There are lots of girls named Sarah! You need something unusual and pretty! Like pick some cool noun! And then change the spelling, and you'll have a really pretty name!

I laugh cynically. How about Memorie? That should certainly be hard to forget.

Stop being so sarcastic. But yes, Memorie's lovely.

I take a deep breath. Well, I said I'd keep my chin up, and that's what I plan to do.