Hej everyone ♥ I'm Zoey! My old intro was more than a year old so I thought it was time for a new one! I've also just settled a lot of work stuff so I'm excited to get more involved again as I finish the final draft of my wip!
Some basic facts about me and my writing:
I'm in my late 20's and I am very sapphic. Zonnemaagd means 'Maiden of the Sun' in Dutch.
My main blog is @zeenimf so I follow from there!
I like experimenting with genre, but all my stories usually include at least a little magic or normally unexplainable phenomena.
A lot of my inspiration comes from atmospheric video games like Nier and Zelda while Peter Newman's The Vagrant had the biggest influence on my writing style.
I looooove video games. Currently hooked on Final Fantasy XIV for which I write headcanons about my character on @nymph-from-ivalice. League of Legends is my other big time sink though I love finding new indie games to hyperfixate onto.
If there is one book I can recommend to everyone it's Kazuo Ishiguro's Klara and the Sun.
When I'm inside I'm always listening to music. Chuu, Gigi Perez, Ethel Cain and Lamp are artists I've been listening to a lot recently.
I have a separate sideblog for my poetry at @colombette.
If you need to bribe me strawberries and/or cake will do.
Phei of the Wind
introspective fantasy | 5th draft
A harpy priestess glides down from her home in the clouds while no one else seems to care that their world is withering away. Follow Phei as she is faced with the wounds of a dying kingdom stained with blood spilled a long, long time ago.
| wip intro | masterpost |
Heavenly Tides
high fantasy | 1st draft | Dutch folklore
The Great Mage Umzand is prophesied to prevent the Moonquake: the moon crashing into the ocean and drowning out the world. One problem, however, is that Umzamd is dead, leaving her pupil Seo to travel across the republic on a quest to bring her back from the dead.
| wip intro | masterpost |
Farewell my Eyjafjörður
paranormal romance | 2nd draft | sapphic
Sigga returns home to her small village in Iceland after a disastrous piano concours. Her childhood friends (and crush) join her but the night takes a bad turn when vengeful spirits break free from the ice and do not intend to let them go easily, if at all.
| wip intro | masterpost |
Starpath
sci-fi | brainstorming
An antiques trader has found a modest living for himself and his pet bear-cat smuggling old furniture, only to find himself suddenly involved in an intergalactic conspiracy about the fabled home-planet of 'Earth'.
| wip intro| masterpost |
A Clearing in the Snow
A cat wanders into a clearing and thinks about life.
| full story |
So Long, Traveller
A traveller arrives at a mysterious station filled with faceless passers-by. The inspector's words ring through his mind.
We all have a ticket here.
| full story |
The Tale of Rook and the Fox' Trail
It falls upon Rook to travel across the trail and meet the lost souls along the way. Only she can restore the path so all souls can move on.
| full story |
Over / Leven
An android responds to an emergency call from HQ. She was built to kill forlorn, but as she keeps talking to her operator doubt begins to grow in her unbeating heart. Do I even have a heart? she wonders.
| full story |
Now that got a biiiit longer than I wanted, but I really wanted to stuff in everything! I love talking about writing and everything so my askbox and dm's are always open! Please tell me about your wips, your stories or your poems! Let's finish those suckers together ♥
OVER/LEVEN is Dutch for 'About Life', as well as 'To Survive.' Follow an Android in a world pushed beyond the brink. The world is flooded with creatures known as the forlorn, and A-913 was built to destroy them in order to find peace for humanity. But when she receives an emergency call from High Command she heads straight to HQ, conversing with the distorted voice of an operator. All A-913 knows is that she was built to destroy forlorn, but as she travels doubt grows in unbeating heart. Will it prepare her for the horrors waiting for her at HQ?
let me know if you'd like to be tagged for other story releases
LENGTH: ~3500 words
Full story continues below the cut!
Around me, the city is shrouded in blinding smoke. The sheer number of sounds nearly overwhelms my soundboard. Gunfire, explosions, buildings collapsing. But it is predominantly the screams of humans that fill the darkness. The pitch indicates a high probability of them belonging to children. Undisturbed and without a sound I pull my sword out of the disfigured corpse lying in front of me.
A voice enters my system. It is distorted, and only after re-configuring my receiver can I discern the words. It originates from high command.
Hello? Does anybody copy? I-I'm. . . Command is down. . . Everyone is. . . dead. . . There's so much blood. . .
I move to the side of the road and crouch behind a car.
"This is A-Unit 913," I say. "Message received."
913? Did you say A-Unit 913?
“Affirmative.”
A hologram of the city appears in front of me. The red dot indicating my position is placed next to the image of a tall skyscraper, yet all that remains of that building is the mountain of concrete lying behind me. Orange circles cover most of the city, areas where the forlorn have overwhelmed the remaining human population and rendered the zone uninhabitable. As soon as the background calculations have completed a yellow dotted line zips away from my position, avoiding all orange zones but one until it reaches HQ: the Andersen Tower.
“Possible trajectory calculated. A-Unit 913 will commence towards HQ with haste.”
Once again the distorted voice enters my mind.
Thank you. I can bring up your location on the map here. Maybe I can. . . I don’t know. . . help, somehow.
Without a word I begin running. My body has already received significant damage, but my core still remains intact. The street in front of me is empty, and so are the next two. But when I reach a larger crossing ― the kind that would be swarmed with humans on an ordinary day ― I slip into the shopping mall on my right. The big glass doors have shattered, and I can enter without making any noise.
A-Unit 913, was it? Isn’t there something more personal I can call you? Don’t you have a name?
I catch a noise in the distance, so I quickly turn around and hide behind a pillar.
”Androids do not have names,” I say, sending only the transmission to HQ. No need for my speaker to join in. “It is a layer of protection.”
I’ll just call you A, then.
“Please refrain from using anything other than my predetermined serial code and unit type.”
Once again I hear the faint sound of footsteps in the distance. I crouch down, closing off all systems but one. Run sentience detection test 4A, range: 200 metres, power: maximum. My scanning unit buzzes for a second. No significant sentient lifeform detected. If it were truly footsteps that I heard, that can only mean one thing: the forlorn. I stand motionless as the sound grows louder. The footsteps are irregular, belonging to a being that wanders without purpose.
My fingers wrap around the hilt of my pistol as I slowly take it out of my belt and hold it in my left hand, while drawing my sword with my right. When I step away from the pillar I find myself, face to face with one of the forlorn. It has a humanlike figure, and as it walks it slightly drags with its left leg. When it notices me, it screams. The sound resonates throughout the mall, swirling around the shops and pillars until it slams into me. It is so dense my motherboard is, for a moment, unsure how to react.
As it runs towards me I take my pistol and shoot at its dragging leg. The sound of my gun barely makes it through its screams, and the forlorn’s face does not change its grief-struck face when it gets hit and falls to the floor. Four large strides take me to the fallen creature, and before it can grab my leg I take my sword with both hands and dig it into its exposed back. When I pull it out a faint blue shimmer flies up from the wound before sizzling out into the damp air. I scan for any other sound, but the mall has become completely silent.
With no other dangers I start running, using blueprints from my database to chart the fastest course to the other side. Apart from the sound of my boots crushing the dust and grain from the old mall, not even the forlorn outside can be heard.
That scream, was that a human that attacked you?
“It had lost its soul. According to Order Four Two Se–”
I know, I know. . . She just sounded so lost.
“It is recommended to refrain from seeing the forlorn as the human individuals that they may have once been.”
I slip into an abandoned grocery store, moving to the storeroom at the back with hasty strides. I push against the fire escape that leads into a narrow back road, one that eventually leads to the plaza HQ was built underneath. It is still 4.21826 kilometres until I reach zones populated with forlorn, so keep on running.
Hey A. Could you tell me what the city's like right now? It would help me calm down.
I need not look around. My systems scan the surroundings constantly without me inputting any commands.
"Most windows are smashed. The road is obstructed by rubble, both organic and non-organic."
A soft laugh fills my mind, an unusual sound that is swiftly matched to the word 'giggle' is by my system.
I know about that part. Just tell me something else. Look up. What do you see?
I stop running and look up, casting my eyes to the skies, using those empty rotating orbs that are made only for humans to feel at ease when engaging with me. Here, when I’m all alone, to look up is a meaningless gesture.
And?
I stand in the shadow of a skyscraper. The glass windows at the top are still intact, and the sun burns through it with ferocious, almost defiant orange light that overwhelms the smog-filled skies.
"It's," I say, keeping my hollow eyes glued to the light. I search my databanks for an appropriate way to describe it, looking through the literature the humans liked so much. "It is as if an angel has set fire to the skies."
Alerts crowd my vision. Without noticing I’ve run into a part of the city that’s been taken over. I scan for sentience and find no conclusive proof for any. Not a single human remains in the district.
A rumbling sound makes me spin around. It belongs to a forlorn crawling over a broken down car. It was once a young man, but now his eyes are empty. His movements are rushed and ragged, as if they are taken over by an awkward puppeteer.
I take my sword in both hands and power it up. Gold lines whirl to life on the silver metal. The forlorn continues its trek towards me, undisturbed, as it screeches with the same ferocity as the forlorn in the mall. With a single strike I could take it out. It would require no effort.
When the forlorn gets close enough that I need only strike it jumps, finding strength from the despair that has claimed dominion over its body. I twirl, stepping back and letting the forlorn jump past as I strike, slicing through its body and cutting it into two. The puddle of blood underneath it grows, and soon it envelops the forlorn’s remains.
I look over my shoulder to find two more forlorn. They’re wearing white dresses that don’t seem to fit properly, as if they put them on in haste. The white is smeared with streaks of blood and other grime. They scream in unison when they charge. Just as I’m about to take out my gun I turn around to find a group of five other forlorn jumping down from a nearby roof, and four more jump out a broken window.
A, you’ve gotta get out of there.
“Understood.”
Do you see that large flat to the south? Another building has crashed into it, if you get to the top you may use the fallen building to get straight to the plaza.
I hold my hand on the hilt of my sword as I run towards the two forlorn wearing dresses. When they lunge for me I jump, reaching just enough height to land on their falling backs and push off. I run as fast my core lets me, avoiding any forlorn crawling over the street.
When I reach the entrance I use my sword to cut through the old oaken door. The inside is, to my surprise, a hallway made to resemble an ancient 19th century style. The wooden handrails of the stairs that swirl upwards appear well-cared for underneath the layer of dust.
Run to the top. There’s a garden up there with a door that locks from the outside.
The staircase groans underneath my hurried steps, but it takes only a moment until I have run far enough away from the screams of the forlorn. As promised the web of staircases leads me to a big metal door that I can push open. I turn around and lock it behind me, slamming the lock with the hilt of my sword so that none may open it again.
When I turn around I get hit by another sensation, something I haven’t experienced in months. It is the strong smell of flowers. A glass dome stands proudly above the garden that lies on the roof, as if it's shielding it from a world shrouded in despair. Around me flowers have been planted in cylindrical patches.
I walk to the centre of the dome, trying to make sense of the colour and life that has somehow survived the past months. Some of the patches have even outgrown their initial lots. Vines crawl out from underneath the tiles, and flowers burst from the green brushes.
At the centre I find a small heart-shaped flower bed in which a single purple flower blooms almost courageously amongst the green shrubs.
A, are you there? Did you make it to the top?
“It’s a hydrangea.”
You mean the flower?
“I didn’t know they still grew flowers in the city.”
And I didn’t know androids possessed a database for flower recognition.
I linger at the flower before pulling myself free and turning to the other side of the greenhouse where the glass roof has shattered and I can easily access the rest of the roof.
The city lies stretched out in front of me. Some buildings have collapsed, and just as promised, one of them has crashed into the building I’m standing on, giving me an easy walkway down to the plaza. Smoke burns from distant corners of the city, and the plaza in front of me has lost all colour. Trees have caught on fire while the grass has been covered in broken tiles. On the far right side stands the tower that serves as our Headquarters in this city. The face of my creator, Professor Anderson, is plastered on the building as the head of Andersen Media.
A flock of birds catches my attention. They dive down from a nearby skyscraper and fly off into the distance, their carefree gliding almost insulting to the suffering down below.
“What’s the situation like over there?” I ask.
Our systems are failing one by one. I don’t think anyone here has survived. I can’t detect many more androids either, their signals keep disappearing.
“I’ll be there soon.”
Please hurry.
After I make sure all my gear is properly tied down I cast one last glance at the hydrangea before I leap off the roof, landing on the fallen remains of the other building some five metres below. My descent is swift, and within minutes I’m standing on the plaza and running towards my goal. Despite the fact that the plaza lies in the centre of the city, there isn’t anyone else around. There are no humans, no androids, and not even a single forlorn.
The inside of Anderson Tower has the same ominous atmosphere. The only sign of any human activity is the corpse lying on the administration deck. His blood is still fresh, and I am unable to tell whether it is a human or one who has already given in to despair. All I can see is the horror stuck on his face.
I draw my sword and head down the stairs towards the command room. The white interior has been painted red with the remains of those who lost their lives here. A vague fog begins to form in my system, but I quickly manage to push that away.
When I reach the entrance to command I draw my sword and scan one more time. Sentience detected. 84% probability of more than 1 individual. With a surge of power I push through the door, sword pointing forwards.
Command is based in a circular room. Rows upon rows of desks filled with monitors all stand around a central platform on which the local commander would oversee the city. Most desks are empty, though some are covered in the blood of the past operators. I look for a living operator around the desks but find none, until I look up to towering structure in the room’s centre to see a man hurriedly typing commands into a computer. When the door closes behind me he looks down to me and frowns.
“Stand down, Android.”
I run towards him, and only up close do I recognise him. It is Alfred Andersen, renowned scientist, philosopher, and creator of the current model of androids tasked with eliminating the forlorn.
As soon as I realise who gave the order I can feel my muscles tire, and each motion becomes slightly more sluggish. Still, I manage to drag myself up to the tower, letting the tip of my sword drag across the ground.
“Are your audio systems broken? I said stand down.”
His suit is wrinkled, and his tie has become undone. His usually curly brown hair sticks to his sweat-clad face.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He turns over his shoulder to look at me, first at my face, then the sword lying in my hand.
“I’m abandoning the Android Project and shutting all you puppets down. You’ve had a good run, but you didn’t make much difference in the end.”
I can see what he’s doing now. With each input he enters a different part of the network, shutting down hundreds if not thousands of androids.
“Sir?”
“More and more humans have given in to the calamity, to despair. Soon there will be nothing but forlorn aimlessly wandering the streets. We aren’t going to win anymore. It’s over. Humanity is lost.”
He looks over his shoulder and glances at me with tired eyes.
“It is almost cruel to let humanity cling to that last sliver of hope. With all the androids shut off the last humans will be hunted down quickly. I pray their end is swift and painless.”
I run the test again. Sentience detected. 1 individual. My fingers clasp against my sword, shaking, clutching it.
“I c-can’t. let. y. y.ou do. th..a.t,” I say. Every word I have to push through with all my might. My systems are burning, as if my core itself has been set alight.
Andersen raises his eyebrow as he turns around and inspects me once more.
“I wasn’t asking your permission, Android.”
“If there are still humans left, I still have a place,” I say, finding words that come much more easily.
He wipes his forehead with a handkerchief, leaving lines of blood.
“It’s all right, Android. That’s just a few lines of code that make you feel that way.”
He turns back to his monitor and continues to deactivate swaths of androids with a single click.
Something burns inside me. The thought of being deactivated just like that fills me with some sort of dread, something I can’t quite place. Shaking, I manage to heave the sword above my head. Every line of code tells me not to raise my sword, but there is something else inside me too, something that tells every engine in my arm to keep going.
“Next thing you’re going to say you’re alive,” Andersen says under his breath.
With those words, something inside me snaps. Swaths of code break as I bring my sword down with a scream. But as I strike Andersen spins around much quicker than you’d expect of a man his age, and when my sword hits his shoulder an intense, all consuming pain fills my body. I look down to see Andersen’s walking stick pushed into my chest. A current of electricity rushes from it, the neon blue sparks frying my systems, crowding my mind with errors and strange thoughts. I am still pressing my sword against his shoulder, but I can’t seem to slash into him.
Andersen’s face is as blank as before, although the veins on his hands are pulsing from the effort.
“See? You can’t even cut down the person trying to kill you,” he says. “If you were human, you could have at least drawn on your primal instinct for self-preservation.”
I scream as I try to drown out the pain, but the sensation clouds my vision and overwhelms my systems.
“I’m not human,” I manage to say, putting all my remaining strength into my arms. “But that doesn’t mean I am not alive.”
If I am to expand my last reserves on something, now feels like the right time.
Anderson laughs. He seems undisturbed by my blade resting on his shoulder. Perhaps he, too, has lost hope.
“You are not alive. You have no purpose. No goals of your own. You have only the code I gave you. ”
Doubt lingers in my arms, and I feel myself losing grip on my systems. It’s true that until now I have only longed to eliminate the forlorn in order to protect humanity. But there’s something else, too, something floating in the distant depths of my system, like a lone flower clinging to the last rays of sun.
“Is such an objective necessary? Is it not enough to simply… be?”
Andersen laughs again, much louder than before.
“Did you fry your motherboard, little puppet? Or did I make a mistake in the code that sent you into a looping frenzy?” He scoffs. “If you truly believed those things, Android, you would still be trying to kill me.”
His words ground me, and when I turn to look at my hands I find them clutching the grip of my sword loosely. Andersen has noticed this too, and with a last thrust he overwhelms my systems. It requires only a single kick to bring me off balance and make me fall down the central tower, rolling across the room until I hit one of the operator’s desks.
Andersen fixes his tie as he walks down the stairs of the command tower.
“It is funny, isn’t it? You were created without a soul so that you may not fall into the same despair as the forlorn. Yet by doing so we made our greatest mistake. They are enslaved to their despair much like you are enslaved to your code.”
When he reaches the bottom he taps his walking stick against my leg before walking towards the main server room.
“Enjoy your last moments then, A-913.”
As I watch him walk away I can feel my core deteriorating. The urge to scream, to let everything out, almost becomes overwhelming. But I have one chance to let someone know what’s happening, one more chance to fix things. I groan as I pull myself towards the nearest desk to connect with the communication unit.
“Hello? Does anybody copy? I-I'm. . . Command is down. . . Everyone is. . . dead. . . There's so much blood. . .”
Passed down from generation to generation, this song describes the birth of our world and the great sorrow that was born alongside it. Typically performed by oneself on the first day of autumn, it tells of the spirits of old. Although the beings described herein should still roam this world, few remain who can remember their names.
Sit down and rest, traveller, and listen to our Song of the Wind.
in autumn storms,
even the barest earth
learned to live.
withering wind
broken only by spirit five:
a golden crane
drifting amidst the storms–
in winter seclusion
mountains grew from his touch,
forming a lonesome home.
an ethereal deer;
spring wind hammering
against her hide
from her steps grew cover,
forests of pure green.
beneath it all
in a vast and deep home,
a hare digs deeper still
hills erupting where
her tunnels touch the sky.
at the mountain’s foot;
lying in a bed of green
a whale rests
her cries vanish in the wind,
as tears turn into an ocean.
their souls glimmer
in the newfound sunlight;
of a fox’s marble
golden fur, a bridge
between spirits and the world.
until silver fury
strikes the fox’s heart,
and splits them in two
one half, white as moon
her fur colder than snow
the other, as dust,
his fur burning to sand;
devoid of life
when the winds die down,
know, you are not alone
Taglist for Phei of the Wind | let me know if you'd like to be added!
@vacantgodling @henke-does-writing-sometimes @savvyminnow @luminarygardens
Passed down from generation to generation, this song describes the birth of our world and the great sorrow that was born alongside it. Typically performed by oneself on the first day of autumn, it tells of the spirits of old. Although the beings described herein should still roam this world, few remain who can remember their names.
Sit down and rest, traveller, and listen to our Song of the Wind.
in autumn storms,
even the barest earth
learned to live.
withering wind
broken only by spirit five:
a golden crane
drifting amidst the storms–
in winter seclusion
mountains grew from his touch,
forming a lonesome home.
an ethereal deer;
spring wind hammering
against her hide
from her steps grew cover,
forests of pure green.
beneath it all
in a vast and deep home,
a hare digs deeper still
hills erupting where
her tunnels touch the sky.
at the mountain’s foot;
lying in a bed of green
a whale rests
her cries vanish in the wind,
as tears turn into an ocean.
their souls glimmer
in the newfound sunlight;
of a fox’s marble
golden fur, a bridge
between spirits and the world.
until silver fury
strikes the fox’s heart,
and splits them in two
one half, white as moon
her fur colder than snow
the other, as dust,
his fur burning to sand;
devoid of life
when the winds die down,
know, you are not alone
Taglist for Phei of the Wind | let me know if you'd like to be added!
@vacantgodling @henke-does-writing-sometimes @savvyminnow @luminarygardens
PHEI of the WIND
introspective NA fantasy | finished manuscript
When the winds cease to blow, none will live to hear their wails.
Gliding on fading currents and tending to the kingdom’s remaining shrines, Phei longs to break tradition and explore the world beneath the clouds. Yet only when she learns that the surface-world may face grave danger does she allow herself to fall.
In a world of spirits scarred by wounds long forgotten, Phei has to ensure her own spirit is strong enough to withstand the mystery surrounding her roots, or else they may end up strangling her instead.
MAIN CHARACTERS
Phei Sageblossom | idealistic and stubborn, all to a fault | Breihdyria's last Sage, trained in using not her eyes, but her spirit to see the world. A cheerful yet serious, gentle yet fierce harpy who runs away from home in order to find one for herself.
Aspen | when everyone leaves, you stop trying to hold on | A lone vagrant, passing through the icy north before being taken in by a new mother, only to be pulled away once more when the fate of the world comes calling, even though she doesn't want to respond.
SIDE CHARACTERS
Noahk : last heir of a forgotten kind. A show-off with a broken heart
Selia : spirit guard of yesterday’s flaws. A spirit with more than just her face hidden behind her mask.
Edel : mysterious weaver of fate. A scalian whose hands are never clean.
Lyra Swiftwind : both the bridge to the future and the anchor of the past. In charge of the east's last bastion of humanity, all in a desperate attempt to hold on to the past.
EXCERPT
The forest around the shrine is dying. Branches of trees hang still in the wind without their leaves, unstirred, lonely. No grass pokes through the dirt, reducing the world to a mix of brown and grey. Phei bends down and picks up a fallen crane idol, cleaning off the dirt and placing it back onto the wooden crown.
“What made you run away, little one?” she asks, and the fuzzy orange spirit reappears on her shoulder. Its black eyes peek around frantically as it hops around from one shoulder to the other. Phei puts her hand on her chest. The tips of her feathers light up briefly, but her spirit burns on peacefully, undisturbed.
“There doesn’t seem to be anyone nearby with ill intents,” she says in an attempt to calm down the spirit. “I can ignite the crown again, but you’d be all alone until the forest recovers.”
The spirit lets out a high pitched tweet and vanishes again, staying warm near Phei’s own spirit.
Phei chuckles to herself before cleaning out a few more idols and putting them back on their proper positions.
“There,” she says. “Much better.”
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Now that the manuscript is complete im putting on the finishing touches before I look for a publisher! I'll share a little on here too and can't wait to bring the full story to the world!
Taglist : @vacantgodling @henrike-does-writing-archive @luminarygardens @savvyminnow
Good question! It depends on the location. Most places in Lopenya would use archives like ours, with books and papers and such (no computers or anything.) But the Thashras race can store information in crystals that only other Thashras can access, so their archives would look quite different, like giant caves filled with bright humming stones.
Alas, I’m only human, so I’d be in an archive like our own!
Passed down from generation to generation, this song describes the birth of our world and the great sorrow that was born alongside it. Typically performed by oneself on the first day of autumn, it tells of the spirits of old. Although the beings described herein should still roam this world, few remain who can remember their names.
Sit down and rest, traveller, and listen to our Song of the Wind.
in autumn storms,
even the barest earth
learned to live.
withering wind
broken only by spirit five:
a golden crane
drifting amidst the storms–
in winter seclusion
mountains grew from his touch,
forming a lonesome home.
an ethereal deer;
spring wind hammering
against her hide
from her steps grew cover,
forests of pure green.
beneath it all
in a vast and deep home,
a hare digs deeper still
hills erupting where
her tunnels touch the sky.
at the mountain’s foot;
lying in a bed of green
a whale rests
her cries vanish in the wind,
as tears turn into an ocean.
their souls glimmer
in the newfound sunlight;
of a fox’s marble
golden fur, a bridge
between spirits and the world.
until silver fury
strikes the fox’s heart,
and splits them in two
one half, white as moon
her fur colder than snow
the other, as dust,
his fur burning to sand;
devoid of life
when the winds die down,
know, you are not alone
Taglist for Phei of the Wind | let me know if you'd like to be added!
@vacantgodling @henke-does-writing-sometimes @savvyminnow @luminarygardens
In Little Prayers I'd be a storyteller. Collecting stories about the gods from all corners of the world and then regaling them to a rapt audience in every new town I visit.
It's so weird that when I am practicing piano or violin I am so focused on improving technique, reading about it, implementing tips and strategies from others into my own play and then the moment I see writing advice I want to kill someone
don't lose your spark, okay? @zonnemaagd - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
