“I do believe that in one of the ancient scrolls, J.R.R. Tolkien referred to himself as a sub-creator,” Diamond replied. “Many people have pondered the meaning of this—does that make him a demigod? A Vala such as Aulë? Or was he simply being modest? Of course, surely you can appreciate a great mind enshrouded in mystery,” she added with a wink, and then as an afterthought, “I wonder, how might I acquire a similar bumper sticker for my Lamborghini?”
The music ended at that moment, and though Diamond was enjoying herself immensely, she was hit with a sudden wave of debilitating fatigue and footsoreness. It felt as if she had been dancing for hours, but at the same time, only mere minutes—time seemed to do funny things when one is salsaing across the floor in the arms of the Phantom.
She suggested that they take a break and get a refreshing drink at the bar. Phantom agreed congenially, and soon Diamond found herself perched on a barstool next to the pristine Lush (who was lost in meditating catechism or some such pure thing, no doubt). She rested her feet and said to the Phantom, “Thank you for such a wonderful evening, you dance divinely—and I could dance all night, but I wouldn’t want to fall asleep during tomorrow’s awards ceremony.”
In fact, she was already nodding off a little over her drink, which suddenly appeared to wink, blink, and nod back at her. It’s been a long day…
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All shall be rather fond of me and suffer from mild depression.
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