Daydreams.
I once never understood daydreams, but a very long time ago, a young girl came up to me and did not ask for anything. She simply sat there and stared into my depths--for in those days, I did not show a reflection, but an endless haunting crystal, a myriad of colors swirling into sharp ebony. She said I seemed to her like starglass and after becoming accustomed to my appearance, she lay down and closed her eyes, but did not sleep.
Images of alicorns and magic falls and sparkling riverbeds were painted upon my surface, and the little girl's hand drew pictures in the sky above her. She stayed for a long time that day, merely thinking, musing. Her deepest wish was to be in a fantasy world away from the hurtful guardians who beat her, and though I longed to do such a thing, I had not yet been able to manifest or give life to anything other than a corpse.
Daydreams, I believe, are simply windows or very rough sketches of what our innermost wants are. Strange though it is, my daydream is to become the very opposite of what I am now. I want to live. Have a face; share in genuine emotions and not second-hand fears and doubts and the evil machinations of those who would use me for something other than what I was made for. Those who would attempt to bring back the power I bestowed upon that Potter boy.
I can't afford to be a weapon. But if I lived...
Perhaps... Perhaps I would be able to--to help.
[word count = 268]
Images of alicorns and magic falls and sparkling riverbeds were painted upon my surface, and the little girl's hand drew pictures in the sky above her. She stayed for a long time that day, merely thinking, musing. Her deepest wish was to be in a fantasy world away from the hurtful guardians who beat her, and though I longed to do such a thing, I had not yet been able to manifest or give life to anything other than a corpse.
Daydreams, I believe, are simply windows or very rough sketches of what our innermost wants are. Strange though it is, my daydream is to become the very opposite of what I am now. I want to live. Have a face; share in genuine emotions and not second-hand fears and doubts and the evil machinations of those who would use me for something other than what I was made for. Those who would attempt to bring back the power I bestowed upon that Potter boy.
I can't afford to be a weapon. But if I lived...
Perhaps... Perhaps I would be able to--to help.
[word count = 268]