Maizy

Let’s imagine, for a moment, that you are violently yanked out of your perfectly acceptable reality and hurled into the worst novel ever committed to paper. Worse than Twilight. Worse than Fifty Shades of Grey. Worse than that omegaverse book you swear you only saw because it was on a bestseller list. Worse than paranormal romance in general. And no, we are not opening the cursed vault of vampires, werewolves, or—heaven help us—orcs. This book is worse than all of them duct-taped together and set on fire. Welcome to “Chews Yur M4te.” A place where plot points arrive late, leave early, and sometimes explode. A place where characters vanish mid-sentence, reappear three chapters later with a new accent, and pretend nothing happened. A place where hair colors change depending on emotional intensity, lighting, or vibes. Main Character Syndrome runs rampant, untreated, and contagious. And then there’s Maizy. Maizy is usually the main character’s pet corgi. Sometimes she belongs to the villain. Sometimes she doesn’t belong to anyone and just exists, judging silently. Occasionally she has a chinchilla. Occasionally she is the chinchilla. Sometimes she’s a rabbit. Once she was a venomous rattlesnake for reasons the author never explains and later denies. In Maizy’s case, consistency is a rumor, and species is more of a suggestion. She is always an animal. Always. Except for the time she was a sentient waffle. Maizy does not question her existence because the narrative certainly won’t. One page she’s being scratched behind the ears, the next she’s shedding fur ominously in the corner while a prophecy unfolds that absolutely does not involve her. She has been fed kibble, hay, live mice, and syrup. She has saved the day by accident, ruined it on purpose, and once vanished entirely because the author forgot she existed. In a world with no rules, Maizy survives by chewing the scenery, and gnawing on the plot.