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Food

Ah, yes. *opens dusty book and begins to read*

Write A Bizarre, Old-Timey Novel With This Mad Libs-Style Game

Mrs. Pennyshire gazed through the bay window longingly. Her silvery eyes danced across the sprawling fields around $winner1 Manor; through the orchards beyond the road, and to the glowing horizon, where geese $winner2 overhead and clouds spread like a melancholy quilt. “For night will come, but by day, all will be remembered,” she recited with but the slightest of sighs.

She turned inward to face the expansive sitting room just as Harriet, the housekeeper, aged $winner3, entered. “Oh, miss! I didn’t know you were in here! Apologies, miss!” 

“It’s quite alright,” said Mrs. Pennyshire. She took a seat on the chaise lounge, usually only reserved for fainting. “Harriet?”

“Yes, miss?” asked Harriet, with eyes as wide as $winner4. 

“Do you know where my husband has gone?” Asked Mrs. Pennyshire, with an emotionless demeanor.

Harriet was taken aback by this. She had never in her life of servitude been asked such a question by her mistress. “H-he – Mr. Pennyshire, that is – I saw him ride out early this morning.”

“And why didn’t you tell me this, Harriet?” Asked Mrs. Pennyshire, swiftly choosing a $winner5 from the toffee box.

“I thought you knew Miss. I dearly apologize. I am sorry, truly. Can I get you some $winner6? Perhaps some smelling salts?”

“Leave me,” said the lady, but a moment after Harriet was dismissed, she too left and entered the dining hall, for supper was ready. She consumed $winner7, which she had asked for upon several occasions as of late, as well as $winner8 courses consisting of various $winner9 pies.

As she retired to her chamber, she felt she had changed in a most unusual way. She sat at her vanity and ran her fingers across her fine satin $winner10. She touched her $winner11 and her $winner12. This was not the young, lively girl who had arrived on the moors of $winner1 Manor seven years prior as a tutor to the illiterate Mrs. Pennyshire. An impostor shone in those bewitched eyes.

Minutes later, Mrs. Pennyshire – no, not Pennyshire any longer, and not Mrs., for that matter – was donning her best velvet $winner13, leaping down the staircase and running barefoot into the misty wood, never to be seen again. 


Here's your weird Victorian story!

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Write A Bizarre, Old-Timey Novel With This Mad Libs-Style Game

Do you wish to compose a compelling story but haven't the time? Let our handy story-writing machine do all the work for you! All you must do is provide us with a few simple words and voilà! You'll be performing dramatic readings in the parlor in no time.

Write A Bizarre, Old-Timey Novel With This Mad Libs-Style Game

Do you wish to compose a compelling story but haven't the time? Let our handy story-writing machine do all the work for you! All you must do is provide us with a few simple words and voilà! You'll be performing dramatic readings in the parlor in no time.

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