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The life of Anadalya
A general days experiences converted into my book's format. I am a very unique person, and have never written a journal in my life. I only write books. So I will write my life as though it were a fantasy adventure! Enjoy!
Dragon Blades: The Lost Story P1
There in the darkness of this long forgotten castle stood a man over 3,000 years old. A man that merely

looked like a man, but was something much more. He was called Vincent, a name he chose from the human

tongue. For none could ever hope to utter his true title. The nobleman was of close draconian descent, blood

so pure, being fourth generation of dracon mother Lucial.

Leaning against an ancient column, one that stood there almost as long as he has existed. Holding up not

near as well as he, as age was irrelevant to his species. Crumbling as his back shifted against the cold stone,

pebbles fell to the equally rugged floor. He just stood there for days on end, thinking, distraught about

feelings he could not explain. Unfortunately for the past few hundred years he had been doing this more

frequently, looking gaunt with hunger as he often forgot that he needed to eat. And like the destroyed castle,

he had begun to fall apart. For he realized he was missing something.

He felt listless, utterly lifeless, and he could not understand why. He had all he could ever want,

treasures, concubine, a forge for his craft, a vast quiet castle…Whatever else was there? He sought the

answer he could not quite grasp, even though he knew it taunted him from right out of his reach. Flinging

his loose long dark hair from his eyes he crossed his arms he stared into nothingness, with eyes two cold

coal black voids, ones that saw into any lightless abyss. Sighing deeply he strode over to the stonework

window, and drew the dust ridden and ratty curtains. With an outburst of surprise and outrage he shielded

his sensitive eyes. His pupils injured by the light, being so long adapted to the darkness they could not

withstand such brilliance, they dilated into near emptiness, looking like mere pinpricks, his eyes now a

ghostly white. Turning away he angrily flung the curtains back across the cracked window frame, returning

to his beloved shadows. The days have begun to run together, he no longer cared whether it is day or night.

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