if you don't know what i'm talking about, check the status post that I made a little while ago about it...
anyway, here goes! the first two paragraphs of a new story that i don't know if i'm ever going to finish or post! enjoy!
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The old house with its wildly overgrown garden is silent, secretive…207Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyuyzAX2ssQ
But, if you were to look past the unruly exterior, you would see a house bursting with life. The hearth is warm with fire, the table filled with good food, and shelves upon shelves of books. Every type of book. Large, small, fiction, non-fiction, and everything in between. You would see that this old house is not just a building sheltering someone from the elements, but a home. For inside this house lives a young man. This man leaves his home seldom, and buries himself in his piles of books and papers, searching for answers. He wants answers about how he could learn to control the magic he possesses. Because the fire had been lit with a bolt of lighting from his fingertips. And the food was being cooked and served by tools moving themselves thanks to his mind. And the books, well, the books were all still being written, by quills without a writer, day and night. Writing everything that would ever be of consequence to this man's life. All of this is controlled by him.
Unfortunately for him, but fortunately for our story, he will never find the answers he seeks, for there are none. There is no way to explain how he worked. And for that, he despises the world. When he was forced to leave the safety and security of his home, he wore a long cloak that covered his head, as well as leather gloves. He did this to keep the world safe from himself. He did this so his magic would not escape from his skin and wreak havoc on the world. So, he stays inside as much as possible, seeing little natural light, barely sleeping at night. He didn’t care that he would sometimes fall asleep at his desk, only to wake up with a singed eyebrow from a fire he started while asleep. He did not care that his garden was impossible to tame, as random vines and plants would grow whenever he touched the soil. He did not care that he was withering away, slowly being destroyed, from the lack of life. Yes, he was alive, but he wasn’t living. This man’s name is Donovan Thornmas, and he is the first, but certainly not the last, magical being to exist on planet Earth. 207Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMf1oFtXd0o
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Yeah! that's it. let me know if you want me to continue writing, and if you want me to post the story on here once i figure out some logistical stuff about it.
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