“Hey babe,” he said, gesturing to his [clichéd euphemism], “maybe you’d like to [crude double entendre].”

“In some 14 year old’s dreams,” she scoffed. “I’m an editorial assistant to the Lords Of Time-”

The half-naked man blanched. A part of him that was small to start with became even smaller.

“My God,” he gasped. “I read about them on a story-writing website. There were three-point-one-four of them and they summoned nippers-”

“Gnippers,” she corrected with a malicious leer.

“-and they edited a story to pieces. This can’t be happening.”

“And in a minute it won’t be,” she said, stepping over to a door that wasn’t there until I made it up just now. “Say hello to a closet full of Foul Gnippers, and goodbye to everything else.”

She opened the door. When the Gnippers were done, she shooed them back into the closet and produced a broom and pan that I think she’d need to tidy up. She swept up the remnants.

“Penelope,” she called, “get back to your story. It’s all clear now.”

And with that, she was gone.