We're all stories, in the end. Just make it a good one.
"I love the silent hour of night,
For blissful dreams may then arise,
Revealing to my charmed sight
What may not bless my waking eyes."
Anne Brontë, Best Poems of the Brontë Sisters
Submitted by: flitterling - Thanks :)
I do not now remember when I first knew I was different. Or rather, that my life belonged to others besides myself. I must have been about eleven or thereabouts, when they left a book on the nursery table. The first four sons of King George III could boast only one living child … and that was me. And so I learned that I was nearer to the Crown than I had thought … and I knew then why I must trace a path ordained by others.