First Step
A new chapter is beginning. I don't know what lies inside of it. I know what pages are behind me, and what sentences are happening. The chapters and pages that are gone are going to shape this new one.
The hellish beginning of my love to write. The things I've already fought off because I don't fit in. Mistakes. Loneliness. I am alone in some ways. I have very few real friends, compared to other people.
I can count them all on one hand. Because, apparently, internet friends don't count. *rolls eyes* Lots of people pity me for it, whenever it comes up in conversation. I'm happy with my friends. They are the best friends anyone could ask for.
I'm prone to holing up in my room when things get tough, and I don't want to come out. Not until my books and writing make me feel better. But I can't write when things get really bad. I'm a flawed human.
Who likes to write, and draw, and be introverted. Who has not shown any of her work to you yet because she keeps going back on what to show. But as I have no more to say, I'll have to shut up and show some of my work.
Prepare to be horrified. I'll go hide while you read this.
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It was time to move on. Again. Moving about from city to city was tiresome, but a necessity. Being drafted was not an option. They were at war. They had been at war with the elves for too long, but at least they were doomed to extinction. The dragons were like vermin. Attacking everywhere and multiplying too fast. Except for the fact that they were not common beasts. They were intelligent, and could speak any language, if they chose to learn it. She was nearing the gate when she heard the cry. “Dragons!” Someone yelled. Everyone immediately looked up at the sky. Sure enough, a small fleet was overhead. Ruineth ran for the gate. Other civilians ran into nearby shops or homes, hoping for a cellar inside, but others ran with her towards the gate. The guards left their posts at the gate, charging up onto the walls to man the ballista. Market stalls were abandoned, screams arising from every corner. Ruineth was silent, surging forward. Overhead, the fleet swooped down in a perfect arc, not breaking formation when one slammed to the ground, struck down by a bolt. She was already at the edge of the woods. She looked back, her lips white. It would be gone in minutes. Disgusted, she crouched down in the underbrush. The tormented screams of those who had no shelter reached her ears. The fleet swooped down again, this time pulling people up from the streets, and dropping them when they saw fit. Anything could happen during wartime. Screams filled the air as she sat, waiting. They could do whatever they wanted. It didn’t matter to her what happened. It wasn’t her fault. Or fight. They made things harder, but that was just because they were all dumb. They were supposed to be fighting the elfs for human rights. Or power. Something along those lines. And in self-defense towards the dragons. The elfs were supposed to be fighting back for their power. And the dragons for land. Power was of no concern to Ruineth. Land didn’t matter much, either. As long as she could earn enough coins to feed, clothe, and keep a roof over her head, she’d be fine. The war benefited her. Someone died? The leftovers were hers. They couldn’t use their money anymore. So why couldn’t she stand to profit? Another dragon fell. The soldier who had hit it fell to the ground, limp as a thread. Flames ate the town. Dragon fire was a peculiar thing, burning where it hit. And nothing else. Until it was gone, it burned. Ruineth turned. She’d be back in a day or two. But it wouldn’t do to hang around.
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