They Are Lost in the Hidden Valley

Prologue

JUNIPER'S FANTASTIC STUDY

"The lack of a coherent comeback smacks of defeat. I accept my victory with great humility "

Juniper smiled at her handiwork. She leaned back into the rich brown leather of her Italian (imported) armchair. The seat groaned, a testament to its impeccable quality as she hummed in satisfaction. Drumming her fingers on her desk, she shook her head.

Payne Sillavan had been at it again. They were another author, like she, but not different in so many ways. For one, Juniper had taste. She could appreciate the real quality of life and all it had to offer. On the other hand, Payne had a focus on- to put it kindly- more eccentric machinations. In this instance, as in many others beforehand, their online ranting she had just responded to was about one subject.

Ranch dressing.

She brought her hands together, steepling her fingers as she contemplated the madness of the writer. Every other week, Payne had found a way to delve into a well of screaming disillusionment about the condiment. Other writers got sucked into the ravings as well, but they were of sound mind and body and resisted to side with the lunacy Payne spouted.

Juniper and the other authors tried to keep it in good fun but...

Payne always took it to new heights.

Heretic.

Blasphemer.

Unholy.

These were the words they always used. Targeted phrases, as if delivered from the Pope's own pulpit. Flooding the feed with pictures of ranch, poorly photoshopped mixed with Christian imagery.

Today, Payne had gone on such a tirade. Juniper dismantled it all with only half a dozen replies in less than an hour (most of that time spent in the conversation no doubt comprising of Payne concocting some half-assed ranch flavored pun).

There was no response good enough to combat her wit. She could have gone further but had drawn the line for a small mercy. There was no point in shattering the other author's spirit.

Her response had been to a slapped together image of Jesus with his head replaced by a bottle of ranch, a woman collapsing to her knees before him. The caption had simply read, "Lmao git rekt."

Trivial and childish. There was a reason Juniper was one of the elites and Payne wasn't.

It had all started as a small community of writers on Twitter.

Stretching, Juniper basked in the perfection of the delivery of her annihilation. She shook her head, standing from the outrageously overpriced and imported desk that was carved from the most exquisite of trees. Normally, it was where she spent her time writing, but it also made an excellent pedestal of which she could spam ranch lovers with JPEGs of mustard and ketchup. A battle station, in that sense, a vessel upon which her moral high ground rode to embarrass and humiliate lesser condiment enjoyers (like Payne and the rest of their ranch ilk). The desk itself matched the timber lining the walls of her study, the countless books held in wood carved from ridiculously endangered trees.

This had once been the home of Jeff Bezos, before he had been (literally) eaten alive by a mob of his own righteous Amazon employees. She ran a hand delicately over the grain of the walls, feeling the amount of her grand wealth, willing her excellence to wash away the stain that terrible bald man had left on the home's aura.

There was much to undo of his vile work on the decadent mansion she had acquired from the dead capitalist. Regardless, the study was perfect. Wall to wall books for her library, a rug made of the pelt of Jeffery Epstein, a grand fireplace- It had all come with the purchase (cash, of course). But despite all the luxury and finery of her perfect home, there was one piece that pulled her writing room all together.