fantasy

I__ chase you anyway. I__l chase you forever.

Sleep now, baby. I__l be here when you wake.

You mean run away? Wolves don't run from a fight." Rebecca Winters in Lone Wolf Rising

I would love to see her set you on fire.

If you're outmatched, out-numbered, out-skilled, you'll run and live to fight another day." Lucky stopped jogging and pulled her close to him. He gently forced her eyes to lock with his. "You need to understand there are plenty of predators in our world who are far more dangerous than you'll ever be. Those are the ones you need to fear and, in a way, respect." ~ Lucky from Lone Wolf Rising

Fuck you!_ __ight here?_ He crossed his arms. __hat definitely wouldn__ help your getting over me.

We get chased by orcs, I__ tripping you and running the other direction.

You__e just a figment of my imagination. A fantasy?___es._ He didn__ dare move.__hen why are you still wearing clothes?

Dreams are pathways for the heart. - Reminim the gnome

With no action to nourish it, your dream becomes a fantasy.

The finished clock is resplendent. At first glance it is simply a clock, a rather large black clock with a white face and a silver pendulum. Well crafted, obviously, with intricately carved woodwork edges and a perfectly painted face, but just a clock.But that is before it is wound. Before it begins to tick, the pendulum swinging steadily and evenly. Then, then it becomes something else.The changes are slow. First, the color changes in the face, shifts from white to grey, and then there are clouds that float across it, disappearing when they reach the opposite side. Meanwhile, bits of the body of the clock expand and contract, like pieces of a puzzle. As though the clock is falling apart, slowly and gracefully.All of this takes hours.The face of the clock becomes a darker grey, and then black, with twinkling stars where numbers had been previously. The body of the clock, which has been methodically turning itself inside out and expanding, is now entirely subtle shades of white and grey. And it is not just pieces, it is figures and objects, perfectly carved flowers and planets and tiny books with actual paper pages that turn. There is a silver dragon that curls around part of the now visible clockwork, a tiny princess in a carved tower who paces in distress, awaiting an absent prince. Teapots that pour into teacups and minuscule curls of steam that rise from them as the seconds tick. Wrapped presents open. Small cats chase small dogs. An entire game of chess is played.At the center, where a cuckoo bird would live in a more traditional timepiece, is the juggler. Dress in harlequin style with a grey mask, he juggles shiny silver balls that correspond to each hour. As the clock chimes, another ball joins the rest until at midnight he juggles twelve balls in a complex pattern.After midnight, the clock begins once more to fold in upon itself. The face lightens and the cloud returns. The number of juggled balls decreases until the juggler himself vanishes.By noon it is a clock again, and no longer a dream.

The strange thing about magic is how easily one can feel familiar with it. Much like a dream, its message can infill the senses of the soul and persuade the consciousness in a way that is undeniable. As intoxicating as the musk of romance and as enlightening as the whispers of hidden wisdom, magic can take you back into the very realm of your childhood ... and leave you there.

This war's not over! Not by a long shot! --Enoch

You cannot be betrayed by your enemies, only your friends.

Just because it's imaginary, doesn't mean it's not real.

It is my opinion that the isolated mind loses its purchase on reality all too easily and becomes prone to fantasy.

Everyone needs to escape sometimes, and retreating into somebody else's fantasy isn't nearly as satisfying as slipping into your own.

Good stories take your imagination to anywhere