"Thine eyes are like stars," The Prince paraphrased beside me.

I giggled along as I hauled the bucket of water. "Isn't it improper for someone as esteemed as yourself to speak to me?"

He paused his shiny black boots. Mouth gaped like a fish. Whipping his head as if he was searching for someone else's voice.

"Were you speaking to me?" He spoke expecting nothing.

I set down my bucket in front of the patch of violet Cosmo, flustering and bumbling. "Pardon my words, your Highness. I did not mean to offend you."

"Offend me?!" Green eyes widen at me. "No, no, I was- You are talking to me."

"Was I not meant to?" I shifted my feet watching his dark hands twiddling.

"My goodness, you can see me!" Excitement tickled his speech. "Young maiden, I must know your name."

Stunned silence permeated. Finally, I took a glimpse at his face. The satin teal clothing he endowed himself in complemented his complexation. The perfectly black-trimmed hair. He screamed nobility in the way he stood and held himself. Like the moon elegantly smiling down upon the world. Someone who was the definition of power wanted to know my name.

"I'm Erin, Riordan's daughter. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, your Highness." I do a short curtsy. The manners that were drilled into me from childhood droved on autopilot.

"Riordan? The gardener?" I pointed to the flowers behind me. "Right."

The Royal Garden was quiet in the evening sun. No servants or nobles roamed the fields during supper. The rays of light immaculately rained on the multitude of colours residing within. I always watered the plants during this precious hour. To watch the evanescing beauties that befell this sacred place. It was special like I was floating and dancing in my own world. Like the realities and harshness of the earth dissipated at this moment.

I returned meticulously tending to the garden. Bucket over bucket with satisfaction. I hadn’t heard the Prince walk away. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to interrupt my dutiful servitude or I was much too focused on nurturing the plants to notice his leave. It did not matter to me, I was just pleased to have a second of conversation with someone so prominent. I halted my trimming of the bush. Dropping my brush cutter.

The Royal family doesn't have a prince.

Yep. Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha. What happens when you give a nine year old a magical wand that turns into a BFG that shoots lasers? Watch and find out!

Edit: the wand is sentient, loves dakka, and can power up on its own if it thinks Nanoha's in danger.

Wow. Can't wait for the next part!

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Our eyes have privilege of restricting immune response from our body so our vision is not damaged. But there are auto immune diseases that makes this happen too damaging our vision. So I guess OP is talking about that?...

Guess I'll have to save this for the future hope you'll write more.

Tim and Robin...

Now I'm sad. 😢

That also makes sense, like "everything needs to go good for ME, and how i would view good right now in my point of view, no harm OF ANY TIPE must come to me or the planet earth or all living creatures on the planet " but i still think a lawyer might think up something better than me.

For years i had similar idea as child and some time as teen i just thought to add something like wishing the wish would come through exactly how would want/i want it to with no negative consequences i wouldn't want (not adding exact phrasing now) But yah not that long ago saw lawyer thing( so something i later regret can't happen since no negative unwanted consequences for me not just harms)

We were there early, me and Samantha. Mother was really happy to meet her, and dad was, as usual not impressed. Samantha was all smile, her pretty blue eyes lighting up while looking around my familly's house. We sat around the dinner table, with grandma and grandpa. They are from Romania. Our familly moved in america in 1945, after WWII. They are very nice and welcoming to everybody, warm and charming usually, but this time, each time i try to cheer them up, they just ignore me and look at Samantha with a strange glaze.

-So where do you come from, Samantha ? Finally ask my grandpa.

• Only from here, Philadelphia, we met at the museum while your son was guiding us through the exibitions.

-I mean, where do you come from, you Zblarta ! Spit out grandma. We are all shocked by her reaction, the violence in her tone. What's happening ? Samantha look unmoved. She put her hand on my knee, as to ask me to calm down.

-What is a Zblarta ? She asks charmingly.

-It is what you are, a creature of the devil, a monster who creeps at night to steal the masculine power of young virgins ! We know what you are demon, and what you want from our grandson.

She makes a cross sign and begins to speak in romanian, nearly shouting at my girlfriend s face. I start to stand up to protest, but the grip from samantha's hand on my knee get so strong that i feel her fingers nearly cutting trew my upper leg's flesh, it is so painful i start to wheep. At my left, Samantha's face is not looking human anymore. She has became some sort of nightmare. A monstruous, terrifying mass of deliquescent rotting flesh, with big teeth and a disgustingly long tongue, hugging my other leg under the table.

-The boy is mine ! It screams. My grand mother faints. My grandpa is nowhere to be seen. At the door of the dinning room, my parents look at us in shock, pale as ghosts. She slowly turns toward me. Slowly she says :

-It will only hurt for a few minutes, love...

I close my eyes. A loud BANG makes me open them again. There is no monster anymore. Only bits of rotting flesh everywhere. I turn around. Grandad has retrieved his shotgun from WWII. Did not know it was still functionning. I stutter :

-Thanks, grandpa... -No problem grandson, but not more Zblarta at home, grandma won't survive it.

Oh I was definitely not expecting that!

Please tell me when you continue this story. I need more of the tale!

OMG this is so romantic, you have a way with words! Can't wait for the rest once you wake up!

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Yeah I am aware, wasn't sure what I wanted to go with so I left it a bit open. It's why I said he was "of the daione sith" not he "was a daione sith".

While I like the story, Daoine sith isn't a singular thing. Saying their boyfriend is a daoine sith leaves it up to being anything from a Cat Sith to a Brownie to a Goblin.

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Thank you very much! ^^

Lol, this is so great and well written.

Thank you for sharing!

“How can mirrors be real if our eyes aren’t real?”

• Jaden Smith, 2013

I used to do well in my school's English exams, especially the creative writing essays. I remember I was in the 11th grade, we were on study break and I was so bored. It struck me that I could write a story to pass the time, doubling as 'prep' for my English exam. I wrote a story that I thought was good and I was really happy with it. So I kept writing to please myself whenever I could.

Fast forward to a few years later, and college was getting super boring too. (I did chemical engineering. Not sure why.) There was this 'media club' of sorts that ran a content website exclusively for stuff happening in and around the college area, and it was pretty popular. They were running a competition where you could send in past work, so I sent in this story I'd written in 11th grade and they were impressed enough to ask if I wanted to join. I did, made it to managing editor of the team, and generally developed a passion for the written word.

I currently work for a small marketing agency startup, but looking back I can see that writing has always been part of my life. From staying up late at night to read the fattest books, to attempting to write (and eventually scrapping) two books by the time I'd left school, I always knew I wanted to be a writer.

I think most of us end up writing for the joy of it. The puzzle, the challenge of making your story fit onto the page; it's so thrilling. Animating narratives frame by frame, building worlds brick by brick, tugging at heartstrings word by word. So that's what I continued to do, until I realized that engineering really wasn't my thing. I started a blog (which only my friends read, and I haven't posted on for years), and this helped me hone my craft, publishing stories, gathering feedback, and publishing more. I still write there sometimes, but I don't expect an audience anymore.

I went through a few years of really bad depression where I believed I didn't have what it took to make it in this world. Writing (and alcohol) got me through that. It helped me get a grasp on the horrible thoughts I was having.

I think the biggest problem for us writers is learning how to monetize our skills. Writing isn't easy, but it seems easy. Most writers (at least the ones I know) are very private when they're at work, so no one gets to see the amount of effort that goes into a great piece. And this means that society doesn't value good writing as much as it should. It's appreciated just fine, but not valued as highly as it should be. At least, not without putting in additional effort outside of writing itself.

I'm in a position where writing is a big part of my work, but it isn't exactly the kind of writing I enjoy. Instead of telling stories, I'm selling stories, convincing people that they need to use this platform or buy that product. Some people will tell you to follow your passion. I'm more aligned with, "Do what you're good at until it becomes your passion." I'm entering my late 20s now, and while I definitely do not have my life figured out, I know I can always turn to writing to level my thinking.

Writing is powerful -- it's what civilizations are built on. It gives us the ability to communicate into the future. Stories preserve lessons, and writing preserves stories. I still try to write stories for myself on occasion, but I'm not always successful. I remember joining that club in college really helped me out, so I figured joining this sub would be my first step back into a community of writers. Cheers to telling stories 🍾

This is really good!

Your immune system doesn't know about your eyes. If it somehow found out, it would attack the foreign object and you would go blind.

Well that's . . . horrific . . .

Loving this so far, can't wait to read the rest.