My Authorial Intent Is To Tell A Cool And Exciting Story.

My authorial intent is to tell a cool and exciting story.

If my cool and exciting story makes you want to abandon your morals and commit evil acts, that's your problem, not mine.

I can't wait to lock myself in my room and watch Halloween movies next month.

Why did I just rewrite a sentence to make myself feel like I'm actually editing something....

Why is it so hard to come up with a good chapter name?

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Hello friends it's been a while since I posted something ~ original ~ so have this rant writing i made in the midst of an existential crisis. Valeria POV btw.

The fragmented mirror shows her what she already knows. Broken pieces of herself scattered in a seemingly-tidy frame. A neat wrapping for her broken little pieces she can’t pick up and fix. What is the purpose of fixing such a broken mirror? It will never be the same again. It won’t show the same clear reflection again even if it was fixed. It’s permanently broken and it will never live up to its true purpose.

The tiara on her head feels heavier than ever. It’s a beautiful piece of jewelry, made to be lightweight and dainty, but right now it carries the weight of the world. She isn’t strong enough to carry the world or to carry the weight of the blood spilled by and on it. The beauty of it mocks her as she looks into the broken mirror. Nothing she does will ever justify her crown, her position, or the amount of respect she has simply by existing. Nothing about it was ever fair.

Magic swirls in her body, as warm as ever. It pulses inside her, ready to take on her command. Its loyalty is unwarranted, after everything. She gave it away, why would it still obey her? Why would it still warm her body? Why would it still heal her wounds? She will be the first to admit that she is nothing without her magic. It sticks to her blood, warm and steady and loyal, but she doesn’t deserve anything like that. Nothing she does will ever be enough to repay the things her magic has done for her. It’d kill and die for her, and she doesn’t deserve that kind of devotion from anyone or anything as strong as what’s in her blood.

Light gray eyes stare back at her, remorseful and confused. What is she, beyond a vessel for expectations and hopes of everyone around her? Is she nothing else beyond that? Does she have any greater purpose other than serving her kingdom?

It’s hard to say.

Perhaps it’s better to keep that thought to herself for now.