The Maiden Gets an Agent

As I was saying, the Maiden, Adelaide, was lost in the Woods, and the weather was getting worse.

A cold drizzle started to soak the Maiden’s gown even more.

Her maidenly pout gave way to a much less maidenly glare.

“All right, this was not in my contract!”

Contract? What do you mean contract?

“Did I hear someone say contract?” The voice belonged to a large, black wolf. He walked on his hind legs. He was wearing a very old-fashioned sleeping cap, and he moved gingerly about his midsection. The Maiden swore she saw a flash of red fabric in his rear teeth.

“Who are you?,” she asked.

Who are you?

“I my dear,” the wolf said in a slick baritone, “am your new agent. For 10% of your pre-tax earnings of course.”

“Look, can you get me out of this rain?” she asked.

“Of course,” said the wolf with a toothy smile.

“You’re hired!” she exclaimed.

Fine, we’ll lose the rain. Can we get on with this, please?

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