InkDream46

Petals dancing, gliding high The petals of the cherry tree were falling, drifting down from the bough. I watched, half-mesmerized, as they were lifted by twirling breezes and made to dance on an invisible floor to a silent song Maiden's laughter, ringing sweet Two girls, both around my age, were running towards me, giggling and laughing. They danced around me, calling to me to join them. "Come, join our dance," they sang, beckoning I was confused, but they gave me no time to ask questions or figure things out. Seizing my hands, they drew me into a mini circle dance Step soft, tread light The dance seemed easy enough, though I was sure I

"I thought dragons were supposed to be smart!" Noxtria, dull golden eyes glinting with a dark rage, rose from her position to stare down at the smaller green dragon before her. When the black dragoness spoke, her voice sounded like rocks, rocks falling from a clifftop and tumbling down in a massive rush of crumbling stone to land with a sickening thud on anything in the way. "Yes, Arcana. Which is why I don't understand why you remain so stubborn." Arcana, though smaller than the gigantic Noxtria, was nonetheless equally arguementive. Tossing her head, she taunted the larger black dragon by calling out mockingly "Oh yes. And I remember quit

Slowly, The fluid bubbled Simmering Under her watchful gaze She had been Nothing special But the liquid Held her talent She let them fall Droplets One, two, three Red flowed outward in the crystal clear liquid Candles flickered Light bouncing off glass Dim light Was all she needed To see The liquid That was her craft The craft she held so dear She needed no others To help her Brew her strange concoctions No others entered the secret chamber Alone, With liquids and flames She worked her art Her art of alchemy

Her earrings flashed in the flickering light as she ran the silken cloth through her fingers, breathing in its scent. A soft sigh escaped her lips, remembering times past. The cloth gently slid through her hands, until she stopped it gently with a touch of her thumb. Light glinted off her buffed nails as she ran them along a single thread, flashes of light rising. Bit by bit, thread by thread, the stories were woven together. Images, words, phrases, spun from Ideas and woven together to create Characters, Plots, and Scenes, which in turn came together to form the Stories. So many kinds of Stories, all born from the fibers of the Ideas. Legen

No matter how much you say you do, You don't Know who I truly am No matter how much you say you can You can't See through me like a crystal-clear window No matter how much you would like to You don't Know me inside and out No matter how long you've known me You can't Ever claim to know my true thoughts and feelings Because no matter how much You learn about me There will always be some little part I keep hidden Not even you will know all my secrets