On the Cruel Limitations of Ten Fingertips
I ask, why must choice be so final? My mind is locked in a sweet confusion, caught between the tales of magical protectors, digital songstresses, and whimsical theatre troupes. To choose but one to lay upon my nails feels a tragic betrayal to the others.
The true affliction: I harbor a childish fancy to possess them all.
If magic could grant me extra hands for the festival - I believe Convention in common tongue - my dilemma would vanish like mist in the morning sun. Yet, alas, I must somehow master my restless heart and choose.
Why must a young lady's greed for artistry be bound by the reality of a mere ten fingers? 'Tis a most cruel jest of nature.
Alas, I have no fancy banner to mark the end of my public musings, yet I still give my name as all of this inner labyrinth have done. - Cordelia