Keeper Of The Clock_Metatrons mirror_When the Forgotten Past Glimpses the Future_We Are The Legacy
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Keeper Of The Clock
In the land of the Isles, the Winter Isles, where time is slow, the clock of Aerona keeps the village moving at a quick pace.The clock of Aerona stands in the middle of the village, its keeper Magic keeps the clock rotating day and night.While the villagers sleep, Magic stays awake watching the clock so no intruder will steal the clock.The villagers sleep peacefully knowing the clock will always keep them moving fast, but then one day during a time honor tradition something happens that will cause the village of the Winter Isles to suddenly freeze.The celebration of Aerona is a time honor tra...
Metatrons mirror
When I was seventeen I went to go live with my uncle down in New Orleans. My parents couldn't stand the sight of each other and I felt like it was my fault because they both thought of me as a failior. There were many times when they would fight that they actually started to wail on each other and when I would try to stop them, they would look at me with disgust so eventually i couldn't take it anymore so I called www.onedoor.ccmy uncle and told him what was happening. Within the next two weeks he came and took me away from it and I couldn't have been happier. One thing I know is that nobody likes to feel l...
When the Forgotten Past Glimpses the Future
You will find yourself out in the world, living what they call a normal life. You will have work that you enjoy, even when it is hard. You will enjoy it because you have always enjoyed knowing your place in the world and filling it, and because part of you will recall the hardship you have come from, even though specifics will evade you. You will have good friends who admire you, because truly, it is difficult not to. They will not know of your heritage—nor will you—but you have the gait, speech, and soul of a princess, and people won’t be able to help treating you as such. Of course, for som...
We Are The Legacy
“Pumpkin spice soup, fresh baked bread- crunchy and flakey on the outside, warm and soft in the middle, butter melting, pooling into the crevices of the family insignia stamped on to every loaf. They sat around the waxed wood table as a tuxedoed waiter served them on cold, silver platters, light dancing across domed covers. The candles were dimmed in an attempt to gather minds to their one tethered commonality, to shadow watery eyes, pulsing jaws, and a fiercely competitive spirit. The eldest placed himself at the head off the table, where the king had once smiled gently, peacefully, at his fi...