To many, the idea of immortality was a great gift. Those who yearned for power often craved the possibility of an eternal life, where they could celebrate their victories and rule without end. But I wasn’t one of those people. My immortality was a curse, one given to me by an evil witch who’d taken away everything I ever cared about. There seemed no hope she could be defeated and I feared my people would suffer endlessly under her rule.
These marble walls aren’t what make me a prisoner. I am a prisoner of magic.
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I know I should. I know I need to…but, man, I don’t want to. That’s me today. The time has come to go back through my third book and I’m not ready for it. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy writing it. Oh no, I did (mostly). But reading the words I slapped on my […]
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