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Espen sat alone in his room, Taylor Swift’s “Bad Romance” blasting through his headphones as he doodled mindlessly in his diar- journal. It was then when a soft knock echoed on his door. Espen spun around in his chair, throwing the journal under his bed hurriedly. He opened the oak-wood door swiftly, and he positioned his steel-gray orbs gently upwards to his mother dearest, Vourtuerwen. “What brings you here?” Espen questioned the ewe curiously, his head orienting itself slightly to the left in confusion as to why his mother could have been at his door now. “Hello son.” Vourtuerwen said stiffly, her tone rid of any motherly empathy- or emotion at all. Like a board that had been covered in resin, she seemed to have no room for bending her emotion at all. “As you know, this family has been having trouble with money recently. So- I need to sell you off to Taylor Swift.” Espen couldn’t believe his mother’s noises produced with vocal cords. “What? Sell me away?” Espen protested. “But that’s illegal.” Espen’s mother shook her head. “I don’t care about the law child.” Espen positioned his steel-gray orbs slanted downwards to his feet. How could she do this to him? At least it’s Taylor Swift. “So be it then.” Espen nodded. “Take me to her.”
The front oak door to the log burst open as a very excited Taylor Swift opened the door, two large bodyguards behind her. One of which was carrying a suitcase, which was soon handed over to mother Vertrouwen. Taylor pat Espen’s head, she was significantly taller than the 5’1 sheep. Espen let out a small “baah” of protest, to which Taylor let out a small giggle. “Come along now child, we’ve got things to be doing.” Espen looked up at the singer, whose orbs radiated with warm, inviting energy. Espen felt a strong pull to Taylor Swift, like a magnet drawn to metal. “Go on then, scram.” Vertouwen said, pushing Espen out of the log and shutting the door quietly, a soft creak of the hinges sounding. “Woah, talk about rude much.” Taylor’s optimistic light continued to burn inside her. “But come, we must hurry. The paparazzi will be arriving soon- and they’re very eager to meet the hit new band member. Hit new band member? What could Taylor possibly mean by that? “Pardon?” Espen called. There was no reply from the blonde celebrity, only a quiet, graceful shuffle away from the log. Espen followed, as too did Taylor’s bodyguards. Taylor led the small group to her limo, the entire vehicle decked out in decor that perfectly tuned to Espen’s style and interests. It was as if the limo was made specifically for him. Taylor sat in the front of the limo, whereas Espen positioned himself in the back- separate from Taylor. Espen looked around the limo with his steel-gray orbs, there was not a soul in there except for him, Taylor, and the bodyguards. Only now that he had a closer, longer view of the guards they looked a lot less bulky and powerful- in fact, they even appeared to be sheep around his age. But that didn’t make sense- Taylor Swift wouldn’t hire teenagers as her guard, would she?
It didn’t take long for the limo to roll up to Taylor Swift’s house, or what she claimed it to be. The area wasn’t as extravagant as Espen had expected- It was in the middle of the forest, and nobody else was around. Espen began to feel a sense of unease rise in him, something wasn’t right. “Here we are!” Taylor said enthusiastically, opening the door to a one-story wooden house. Espen cautiously entered the house. It looked average. For some reason, it gave Espen a little bit of Deja Vu. But it was likely just the fact the house was so average- right? Taylor’s two bodyguards followed Espen inside, staying close behind him. Espen explored the house. There wasn’t much to explore though, it was a rather small house. There was only a living room, kitchen, and bathroom. Espen approached the kitchen first. He looked over the smooth, marble countertop. There were small scratches in it. Probably just from knife accidents. Or maybe she lost her cutting boards? That had to be it. Espen went to the living room next. There wasn’t really much in it, there was an unplugged television, two sofas, and a small coffee table littered with more scratches and small reddish-brown stains. Espen began to feel as if he wasn’t safe here.
And he was right.
Two shadows were cast over Espen from behind. It was then one of the shadows picked up a baseball bat from behind the sofa, and handed it to the other shadow. The shadow with the bat wound up its arm, and struck Espen right in the temple of his head.
Everything went dark.
Espen wasn’t sure if he had lost a life or not. When he woke up, he was on a stage decorated neatly in eye symbols and dark colours. Around the stage were curtains. Everything was cold. Espen didn’t want to be there. There was another being there in the audience, an ewe in some form of uniform. The ewe was holding a blonde wig in one hand, and a bloodied, silver dagger in the other. The ewe approached Espen, getting close enough to him that he could see her nametag. Geluiddemper .
“Hello Espen. It's been a while.”