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 |   A place where I fight to survive |
| In my world I penned fantasy realms full of creativity and imagination. With a mere stroke of my pen, I breathed life into my characters, conjured vivid landscapes, and spun intricate plots. My stories were known far and wide for their deep emotion and lively fantasy. My writings felt real. Much more so, than just a work of fiction. It was like you could step into the story, and disappear into their world. One day when I sat down to write, it was as if a magical spell came upon me. My pen flew and the story came to fruition in front of my very eyes. The story was writing itself. It spun in a direction foreign to the ideas I had for it. In a daring twist. the protagonist of my story, a brave knight named Sir Conan, who stood on the lush green grass, suddenly turned his gaze toward me. With a knowing smile, He twisted his sword into a circle, then Sir Conan stepped out of the painted pages. His armor gleamed in the soft light. His voice was filled with power, as he spoke, "You have written us well, Dame Tracey. But now it is time for you to take your leave". With that, he took his sword, and with a mighty swipe, I was relished deep into the world of novels, taken away from my world. My fantasy novels were left to write themselves. My pen no longer guided them. (261 Words) |
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