In my rebellious teenage years, I penned a novel about Reina, the sole daughter of Solei's Duke. She dons an eye patch and a black dragon tattoo on her left arm, embodying the epitome of a moody villainess complete with skull accents and black rose decor.
To my disbelief, I suddenly find myself embodying her brooding persona, and as if that wasn't enough, my fictional minions have come to life and are wreaking havoc beyond my control. It's all too much, and I'm left feeling defeated.
It's high time to confront and overcome my angsty past. No more overly dramatic nonsense - it's time for a fresh start.
