A visitor

He sat in his office, exhausted. He was not quite sure that he was a writer. His novels... they lacked depth. He wanted to express so much.

"Knock, knock."
"Who is it?"
"I am one of your characters."
"What?"
"I said, "I am one of your characters!" "
"How did you get in here?" he heard himself say.
"Is that really important? Please let me in. It's urgent!"

Curiosity got the better of him. He opened the door. He saw a woman with dark, curly hair. She had smiling eyes, but they were not necessarily inviting. He did not recognize her though. Which character was she?

"Which character are you?"
"Aren't you going to invite me in?"
"Please come in."

She looked around. She seemly a bit disappointed.
"So this is the author's apartment."
"What did you expect?"
"Let me get to the point," then she lit a cigarette, "You got me all wrong." She sat herself down on the sofa. She appeared very relaxed.

"I want to offer you some pointers," she took another drag.

Which character was she? Why had she come all the way here to lodge her complaint?

"Which character are you?"
"Sarah from "Wherever You May Fall." "
"You don't have blonde hair."
"Dyed."
"Unfortunately, the book is already written."
"So you're never going to write another book about me?"

She appeared a bit seductive. He began to recognize her bit by bit. Yes, this was Sarah.

"I didn't say that..."
"You missed me, didn't you?"
"I was obsessed... I was so desperately trying to breathe some life into you. I just..."

The more he tried to explain, the less sure he felt about himself.

"So you will write about me again?"
"I don't know."