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Young Writers Society


Dukedy

Dun -dun -dunnn!

Fourth year med-school student.
Still sane, relatively (thanks to the occasional 16 hour long naps).
Tells people she's an aspiring poet to sound cooler.
Spends all her time on WhatsApp, Snapchat and in front of the refrigerator.
Prays like crazy to God before the weekly exams.
That's literally all there is to me.


Interests

Food!! Always food! With good thrillers to watch

Occupation

Eater, sleeper, dreamer.


It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats—the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill —The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it—and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another.
— JRR Tolkien