The quill of an author fits only he chosen to bear it, and only those worthy of bearing such a burden are chosen to carry it. The ink that flows into words in our pages is not made of the blood of animals as it once was, but rather the blood that our stories shed, the tears that fall in our tragedies, the pealing laughter that rolls from our comedies.
The story an author details upon the pages of his book are his entirely, from the first to the last and all that reads in between. The words that spill from the quill are crafted from nothing, coming to life on the page with a burning intensity.
My story has only just begun, my words are few, but my ideas are many. My life is defined by a book that remains in its first pages.
My quill chose me and my story, and I hope to fulfill its expectations.
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I went with a Once Upon a Time series 4 spin on this, and I know it's short, but it was either this or more Harry Potter *shrugs*
Currently working on a massive post about where I was at the weekend, so look forward to that :)
Love, Eve <3