I am destined to be alone for all of eternity. Not as a punishment; I was here long before man, and I will be here long after. Modern mortals call me the grim reaper or death, but those who know me, which are a select few, call me Lorelei. Yes, I’m a girl; most of humanity’s modern artists depict me as some stalky, bony dude. Though it’s not like I have the authority to change them. Although, it is always hilarious seeing the look on spirits face when they take a peek at my modest chest area.
Hello, I'm A.H. Frederick. I would like to introduce myself because I am a new author in the making. I would also like to say that I want to be very interactive to my readers out there and so if you wish to contact me, please do so!
The Netflix fantasy series The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, a prequel to Jim Henson's 1982 film The Dark Crystal, has been embraced by many fans of the franchise. However, it has contradicted other Dark Crystal media, thus bringing attention to the question of canon. Below is a history of what the Jim Henson Company has said about the canon, as well as a broad overview of the contradictions (which may contain spoilers).
“Mr. Anderson, if you could follow me.” I waited for Mr. Anderson to get up from the chair, and over to the door before starting off down the hallway. I stopped at my office and gestured to the chair closest to the door.
I slept poorly, so I was awake before sunrise. I had hoped that watching the sunrise would make me feel better. The colors were so beautiful. But, because of me, many people weren’t alive to enjoy the sunrise. Watching something that made me happy felt wrong.
I woke slowly, climbing, with effort, back to consciousness. Something was wrong. I wasn’t sure what, but it was very, very wrong. And it was inside my head. I opened my eyes.
“Do you think she’s having a good time?” Thanatos leaned over to Amora, who nodded.
Angelina sighed as she snapped her book shut. Nothing was ever interesting any more. The words on the page all blurred together and her motivation had gone out the window. Where was the wonder? The panache? The little extra something that made reading worth while. She tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling. Squinting, she attempted to make shapes out of paint splotches and cracks. Nothing. She could hear the sounds of the house: her mother walking to the kitchen upstairs, her father puttering in the garage, her dog yapping in the backyard. Groaning, she stood up from her armchair and stretched, attempting to get some feeling back in her legs. As she made her way over to her bookshelf, Angelina slowly began to think of her collection. As her eyes skimmed over titles, they were all nixed. Too dramatic, she thought, not dramatic enough, boring, boring, read it too much, boring, boring, aagh! She flopped helplessly against her bed. This was getting ridiculous. There should be at least one book that would be able to hold her attention. Making up her mind, Angelina straightened her shirt and strode out of her room. She made sure to tell her mother that she was going out, probably to the library, and she would be back before supper. Her mother sent her off with a smile and a kiss. Angelina shoved her feet into her shoes and she was off.
The day starts out like normal, I wake up, brush my teeth and get ready for the day. I open the window as the city cars honk and swerve. Suddenly, the sun beaming its golden rays ceases. The clouds darken and cover the illuminating light. Change of plans…