Even the gentlest of souls can be pushed to the edge. In olden days it didn’t really make all that much difference. The gossip was hardly likely to penetrate the depths of the Scottish lake. However, now we’ve got Wi-Fi and Google Alerts, it’s next to impossible to prevent yourself from finding out what people are saying about you.
People just don’t get her. Many pretend to empathy and understanding they can simply never have. They’ve just made up a load of stuff and agreed among themselves so many times that they believe it to be true. She’s not even called Nessie. Her name is Margaret and she’d appreciate it if people would start bothering to address her by her correct title (for those of you resolutely outside the loop, this is Defender of the Briny Deep and Empress of the Highlands. If you studied mythological genealogy you’d realise she has a greater claim to the English throne than even Mrs Windsor).
She’s had quite a while now to stew. Certainly recent claims that the myth evolved from sightings of giant catfish haven’t helped the situation. Now she’s actually pretty damned pissed and people have to pay. But how? If she rises from the depths of her sanctuary there will be many a delighted cryptozoologist experiencing total vindication. She can’t be having that.
Actually, the catfish have given her an excellent idea. By cultivating an online presence she needn’t reveal herself but it will allow her to wreak all manner of havoc. Luring vulnerable tourists to their doom (hey, giant aquatic monsters have to eat too and algae doesn’t always get them in the mood. She’s entitled to the odd snackrifice or twelve). Breaking hearts and taking names. She also posts photos of Bigfoot on conspiracy websites because it’s so much fun to mess with them.