Ink and Crown

What makes me happy? Writing. Naturally, this exaggerates things, but exaggeration increases entertainment, so I suppose you shall have to put up with it. That, and the fact that I have inexplicably become somewhat poetic with my words. (Or at least more so than usual.) Even now, in fact.

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Having lives at your fingertips can be really quite destroying, sometimes, but it is a burden among an ocean of blessings, and so it is a burden I must carry. Not physically, of course, but metaphorically - and I'm rather attracted to metaphors, after all.

But back to the lives. I control them, in a sense, but what I love the most is how they control me. How their emotions become mine. How their struggles seep into my own until the two are blurred. How, even when I am not holding the strings over their lives, they find a way to attach strings to mine and control tiny shards of it. I love that. I don't think I should, but I do, and it makes me smile to know that the lives I crafted from the depth of imagination are impacting me.

I impact them, too - sometimes for the worse. You see, I write often of war, and war is a magnet to death, and so how could every single life escape untouched? It cannot. And so some of these lives - some of these beautiful little lives that I have spent so much time and emotion to craft - must be crushed beneath the darkness. And that hurts.

You may be wondering why I'm speaking - or writing, rather - of such a gloomy topic, but there will always be an element of darkness within my mind, and I do not intend to remove it, because without the dark the light would never appear so beautiful. And we're getting to the light at this very moment, I promise. Let us leave the darkness behind us.

You see, while I can take their lives, I can nurture them. I can build their blessings and their flaws; I can stay with them through everything they face, and I can bring them together and watch them. Almost like a journey, I suppose, one in which I am the silent, invisible companion whose figure is never seen, but is always there, through the pain, yes, but the beauty and friendships and happiness.

It certainly creates a stark contrast to the dull blur of reality. Reality - where I am merely a speck, a tiny nothing in a sea of grey. An exaggeration, of course, but exaggeration is one of my greatest comrades. Which is beside the point, because, while reality is grey, the worlds behind the words are colourful, and they are vast, filled with dragons and magic and castles.

Fantasy has always been my favourite, perhaps because of the fact that it is so glorious, so unlike this grey world of ours that I cannot help but tumble into its welcoming embrace, to build my own realms beneath its watchful eyes. Creating. I have always enjoyed creating. With the words at my fingertips, I am Queen of the realm, and none can touch me, none can decree my rule over but myself. I wouldn't call it a lust for power - no, not quite so extreme. I merely like the knowledge that I am a creator, and that none can take that from me.

And it's freedom, too. Freedom to write as I please. Freedom for my fingers to dance to the rhythm of the world and its inhabitants. Freedom to simply be free.

And that, I suppose, concludes it.

Ink.

A crown.

I certainly know which I would prefer, though they're much the same.

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