Hi there! I'm a 21 year old woman looking to become a poet and share my thoughts and feelings with the world. Please look through my work and let me know what you think!
A God’s Awakening
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. Except for today. The spring mist had brought with it a chill blowing in from the north of Hathuin as I gaze out through the cavern mouth of the Tyan Mountains. Rough grey rock lay beneath where I sit, perched at the edge of a mountain face. As I look out, watching the magnificent, crystal spiked beast fly up above, its teal scales glistening in the hues of twilight, I wonder if the creature had spotted me and decided to spare me today. A small mercy. Not that they were overly vicious beings these days, mostly keeping to themselves as we thought fit to lay waste to the realm of Werilloa.
Weaver: A Crystal Dragon
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. And yet, here I was, hunting the fiercest and oldest of them all. Not to kill, no, for killing it would make this adventurer forlorn. No, I was going to capture the great beast, train her and make her mine.
Eight Years Later: How 'Game of Thrones' Changed My Life
Just as I was willing to submit to futile boredom and contempt, it darted up. Hard, fast, and agile—appearing before me in a whirlwind and blur. Dashing from picture to picture, scene to scene; candid in its presence as it prowl before me, ready to strike directly into my heart. And strike it did; deep, passionate, irrevocable. Then, at the end of each electrical impulse, when the synapses’ were no longer being danced across, all that was left was me. Reeling and reflecting, in both my TV screen and contemplation. What happens next? Who happens next? Will I ever grow tired of such a phenomenal outlook on a completely fantasised realm?
Weaver — A Silver Crown (Ch. 1)
Night had fully swept into the Silver Forest, the darkness thick and impenetrable as I mutedly entered and ran through a clearing of trees. It did not scare me, no, for the night was my friend, my ally in these lonely years, my eyes made to see through the black fog. Shadows and spider silk snagged on my skin in a hushed hiss as I darted past branches and leaves, my bare feet gentle on the soft undergrowth beneath, careful to avoid any stones or twigs that had fallen in the autumn breeze.