Discord
I'm not sure why I used to love this time of night. There was something about pretending that I was the only person awake, that the whole world slumbered under the enchantment of a shadowy sorceress with a face of opal and water which never inhabited the same appearance twice. It is up to me to save humanity, so I would work late into the night. Shortly before dawn I would launch my notebooks, and they would transform the sky into a single blazing piece of Baltic amber. A banshee wail would vibrate itself free from my throat, and they would all wake, unaware that the very unlikely thing that stood between them and certain doom was a timid girl sequestered in the Western Pennsylvanian countryside.
I don't think like that anymore because I lost the ardent belief that magic lurks in every obscured recess of existence. Maybe I just grew out of four-thirty-in-the-morning. Or maybe it left me behind because it got tired of waiting.
