- Full Prompt: You are an immortal writer, and you usually change your pen name and writing style just a bit to avoid suspicion. At a book signing a fan brings a book up for you to sigh, except the book is a piece that you wrote 1,000 years ago on a completely different day.
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I am at a book signing, as normal for my extremely long life. It is most interesting to see all the changes that happened to society over the years. Also all very good things as well in my opinion that should not have taken so long, then again most white straight cisgender men think they know best about things that will not affect their lives. And a lot of the Christians and Catholics (mostly) force their ideology onto the rest of society. It took eons to fix all the stuff they did, and good at that. At least to me, it is.
River Jewel Martin. That is what people know me for multiple decades, at this point, I am just taking names from my past characters. It is really hard to keep track of all of them. I do have the first copy of all my stories from the very first to the latest. It is also hard to remember what fake name to write. My real name was lost centuries ago, in a language that nobody knows anymore but, in this language, it means ‘Deathless One’, it feels like foreshadowing in my own life. And don’t get me started on changing the languages.
This girl named Rose came up to me and gave me a book to sign for her sister who was in a car accident and became paralyzed from the waist down. Which is very sad to hear. Sadly I have heard it many times in my years. Hearing all this still hurts me. I can feel sympathy for them. I have had many loves in my life. And just because I am immortal doesn't mean that the people I love (Lovers, Friends, Family) don't mean that they are immortal, and therefore they can get injured, killed, and just die even peacefully. So, I understand the pain, maybe more than others.
I signed the book and gave her the book back smiling.
“Next!” I say while I got a pen since my other one ran out of ink. It is both easier and harder to do. Before it was ink bottles and quills, it was harder since the ink would run out and the quill can break at random. But also easier since I just needed another bottle.
Now that I think about it I have probably gone through thousands of pens, pencils, quills, and just ink in general. It must be in the millions at this point. That is scary to think about.
I write about all the things I have seen and or experienced in all grenes. And there is some bending that happens. I will not lie. All the romance and love and all types of relationships and relations I have experienced are all in my books one way or another.
My favorite book this century is about my most prized lover, Daphne. No not the Nymph, though she looked and acted like she should be one.
Her beautiful curly slightly past the shoulder-length hair, that she always complained never looked good/tamed but I always thought it beautiful. Her amazing bronze skin glistened in the sun, which always seemed to glow even in the darkest of rooms. She was my sun so she should glow like that. She had amazing curves and the body that came with those amazing curves. Her beautiful brown/black eyes are burned into my mind. Her gaze is always filled with love when around me. I hope that mine shared the same.
I am Apollo cursed that my greatest loves no matter how strong will always fall at the hand of death. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again.Again. Again. Again. Again.Again. Again. Again. Again.AND AGAIN! Until the world stops spinning.
It hurts. The fact that I will never see her again. But, she is immortalized in my works. Other people get to know her beauty. I get to share it. I always kill her character and take her away from her lover in the story. She is mine. I have never taken another lover after her. She will be my last. Have I been her last?
Also so the reader knows my pain.
I just realized I have been on a tangent in my head. Luckily that girl Rose was my last one. Maybe I should write a story about her…
That is an idea for another time. I tell myself.
I start closing up realizing that I don’t have time anymore.
Then someone just places a book on the table.
“I know you are packing up but, I was hoping you could sign this for me? It is okay if you can’t just wonder.” This person says their voice sounds oddly like Daphne then again I was just thinking about her. It happens a lot so I just ignore it.
“Oh, yeah it is fine,” I responded looking for where I put the damn pen.
After I found it I opened the book not looking at the cover, not caring what book it was. The pages looked old… probably just worn or something. I tell myself. I got to the title page, that is where I always signed it, but the title page said “The dancing girl by R.J.Lincoln.” I wrote this a thousand years ago in fact I wrote this shortly after I had started my Romance with Daphne. It was the story about what I meant to her… she loved the book dearly.
“Um… what?” I asked and right when I did I saw a message written on the exact spot I always write them… a message I wrote thousands of years ago. . .
“For my dearest Daphne, the love of my life. I wrote this about you darling about us. I wanted the whole world to know how much we loved each other. And how much I loved you. To quote from the book “The women who came dancing in my life and can kiss me like the world is going to disappear.”
Love you tons,
Nex Lisa Littlefield”
I look up at them and…
It is Daphne.
Love.
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