I live in a world
where magic exists. When I was thirteen, I was presented with a choice—continue
to live in complete mediocrity, or move to the place where animated movies are
set and fairy tales are inspired by.
Needless to say, I chose the latter,
and my life became an adventure. I have ridden on broomsticks and magic
carpets, I have fought dragons and danced with princes and
learned that once you sprinkle pixie dust on something, in never comes out.
The world is not without its
dangers, of course. I have scars from close encounters with daggers and swords.
Falling from flight often leads to a concussion, and dragons are far scarier
than they are mystical. Many people would say that leaving the world I know,
leaving my home, is not worth the life of adventure I live now.
I would disagree. Sometimes, the “home”
you thought you had is nothing but another scar. I have mastered this world, I
have grown into it. It is no longer the realm of fairy tales, but of reality.
Now, this world of magic is my home,
and it’s the people I’ve met that have made it so.
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