I sat down at my desk; At my fingers were the keyboard. For a moment, I pondered my thoughts in search of elusive inspiration. In my world of stories, I could make anything come true. Chases across a starlit desert; Bandits on horseback, daring adventure, heart-stopping romance and shining rapiers under a full moon.
I sighed as I sank deeper into a world where impossible was possible and you found out you had angelic wings on your birthday; Or that you were a witch or that your parents are actually in disguise after the wreckage of their original world and you come from a legacy long bereft of life.
Betrayal and lust, anger, sorrow and determination; Weaving a intricate web of such strength that it felt like the very story was real. I wrote with passion.
My eyes finally started drooping; I was practically falling asleep on my desk. I felt a blanket cover my shoulders. Impossible, I lived alone!

I saw a beautiful girl, like the one in my story;

“Thank you for giving me life,” she whispered.