It shed its smothering humanity and stretched its wings.
Pretty.
Cute.
Beautiful.
Sexy.
Words it all but never heard before caressed its oil-sheen skin, delivered by exquisite, loving voices.
It held the power of gods in each of its dainty plastic fingers.
And it glowed.
What is a writer?
A miserable little pile of words!
Call me MP or Miz
Fiction attempted, with various levels of success.
Yes, I do need help, thank you for noticing.
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archiveofourown.org/users/MiserablePileOfWordsDreamwidth Fiction
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