The Lucid Dreamer

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A Writer’s Folly

That is the burden of writers. One can not hold so much power and expect not to pay a price. We are creators with limitless capabilities; when we design we do so with scrutiny. Characters are not perfect in essence, they are perfect for their role. That is why it is foolish to design a character for yourself. To give life to a significant figure is to doom one’s self. 
She started out vague, just a mist in the land of dreams. As my experience grew I began to take bits and pieces from others. Soon she had a form, a figure, even a voice. When she had a scent I know I had damned myself; scent, the most potent creator of memories. She was real now, existing on the plains of a world I could not touch. I began to transcend, recreating myself in this distant world. All this and it was just the beginning  She, the Red Wolf older in life than I, yet I, ever changing Black, White Grey aged only in mind. We were wolf together  but all else a journey yet taken. A journey priced with leaving a life behind. 

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