You Don't Want to Know

Yeah, you really don't. You don't want to know about how I've only gotten five hours of sleep per night for the past few days. You don't want to know that my homework load was crushing this week, and that I'm rather disgruntled about my final essay. I also have a Russian quiz today that you don't want to know about.

And you don't want to know about how I'm feeling so exhausted right now, I might fall asleep in philosophy class.

You really don't want to know--So why are you still reading this? ;)

Before I leave you for now, dear ones, here's an excerpt from the opening of that fairytale story I told you I was writing a few posts back. It had initially been planned as a birthday present for Andromache, which shows you how terrible I am with my writing recently >.< Sorry about that. Don't worry, Andromache, it's still dedicated to you, but it might end up being a Christmas present instead, lol.


They were odd, the ways of magic. Do not open the box; do not light the lamp; do not look back, Orpheus, until you reach the sunlight. It was always so--dreadful and simple, the harmless elevated into something deadly. She walked steadily through the cavern, eyes fixed serenely upon the glimmer of light that was the door in the far wall. Peculiar. She held her doom in her hands, yet it was not heavy. It felt empty. Light. Had Pandora’s box, too, been light, or had it been heavy? She had never thought of it before. How much did all the evil of the world weigh?

She examined the little box keenly as she walked calmly through the chamber. It was small enough to fit snugly clasped in one hand, carved of a black wood, so black it hurt her eyes to look at it, and polished until it gleamed like a mirror, so that in its black face she saw her own gazing back up at her. The box was wrapped with slender, twisted designs like golden spiderweb, intricate and frightening and yet beautiful. Not that she was afraid; not a bit of it. She was too clever for that . . .