The ledger is closed to the general public, darling — not out of snobbery, but out of discretion. What Ms Velvet has catalogued in there would make your e-reader blush and your book club disband. Entry is by code only. You'll have to earn it.
Ms Velvet Bookkeeper reads romance novels so you know exactly what you're getting into before chapter twelve gets you fired from book club. Every title is audited for thermal output, emotional damage, and fiscal responsibility with your feelings. The ledger never lies. The ledger occasionally blushes.
*Science here meaning one woman, a chaise longue, and an alarming quantity of highlighter tabs. All ratings final. Appeals may be filed directly into the bin.
Hand-holding. Longing glances. Someone nearly touches a wrist and has to lie down.
Kissing occurs. The door closes politely and the camera pans to a fireplace.
A scene or two, tastefully lit. You could read it next to your nan if your nan reads fast.
On the page, in detail, more than once. Hydrate. Do not read at the dentist.
Frequent, enthusiastic, structurally significant to the plot. Your e-reader is a liability now.
The plot is a rumour. Read the trigger warnings, twice, in good lighting, then godspeed.
New for this fiscal year: every audit now carries an Emotional Damage provision, measured in broken hearts (💔 0–5). Spice tells you whether to read it on the bus; Emotional Damage tells you whether to read it before a work meeting. The two are audited separately, because a book can leave you entirely unbothered and utterly destroyed.
Every entry balanced to the last smoulder. Assets and liabilities disclosed in full, because unlike certain morally grey billionaires, I believe in transparency.