Sidwell, son of Edward, had come home after a long and tiring hunt. It was successful-- his loosened arrows had pierced the hearts of fourteen wild boars. He looked upon his bookshelf. Old, rickety, the wood it was built with almost cracking under the weight of the multitude of books he had bought just for the aesthetic.
He proceeded to pull out a book. Dusty or old it was not, rather, it was a relatively new biography, titled "The Biography of--". The name had been rubbed incomprehensible from frictionary abuse.
He opened the biography. On its first page, a description of the author.
"A tall and handsome man, with thick, lucious lips in which the whiteness of the teeth within moistened all women who laid eyes upon him."
On the next page was a drawing of the presumed unbelievably handsome man. This author was quite narcissistic, Sidwell thought. Upon closer inspection, the man actually looked quite ugly, to put it bluntly. His jawline was weak and hidden under a layer of fat. It seemed to be the only place his genetics had allowed him to store fat-- the rest of his body was weak and skinny. His hair was mangled and looked dirty. Perhaps the illustrator was at fault? That couldn't be a possibility, since the man's potato-like protrusion of a nose was drawn in impeccable detail. The pores on it were drawn, too.
The man looked quite ugly. The man also allowed this contradictory illustration to appear in the very book in which he claims he had the attractiveness of an Elven God. Perhaps the biography was of a satire nature, and Sidwell hadn't figured it out yet? Or perhaps the author was completely delusional.
It didn't quite add up, Sidwell thought.
