Novel & Cerita Realistic Fantasy

It was dark magick that she spoke of, but is there really magick? After a while of reflecting, I finally hoisted myself up to start on my tasks for the day. I finished my tasks within a few hours, then sat down to write of my dream. The dream of Laylan racing and meeting a brother of light, whatever that was. He was very good-looking, and he seemed to have a good heart. There was something about him that was familiar though. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I knew there was something. As the day went on, I decided to watch some movies to keep my mind from Laylan and Zelimir. Though The Matrix Trilogy was probably not the best movies for that.

I said impatiently. “What? Oh, yeah – go live life… but make sure it’s actually real life.” I frowned. “Versus what?” “Versus a fantasy.” She said it like vershus a fantasy as she stumbled towards the cab. “Fantasies are awesome – fuck yeah they’re awesome – but sometimes you gotta know when to come home and write the fuckin’ article.” “What if real life can be a fantasy?” I challenged her. She paused, halfway into the cab. “If you figure that one out, let me know how to do it,” she said, toppled into the backseat, and waved as the cab took off into the sea of San Francisco traffic.

“Not for me.” His gaze sharpened slightly. “No?” “No.” I lifted my chained wrists slightly. “You dragged me here like a prisoner.” “And?” “And you expect me to just accept whatever insane fantasy you’ve built in your head?” Damon studied me for a long moment. Then he sighed softly. “You think this is about fantasy.” “What else would it be?” His eyes darkened slightly. “Reality.” I almost laughed. “You’ve started a war.” “Yes.” “You’ve killed innocent wolves.” “Yes.”

"You mean the readers aren't finished with us. They want more drama. More blood. More 'Davis' tragedy." ​"They want a Legacy," the girl corrected, pointing her flute toward the horizon. ​Beyond the hill, the "Reality 2.0" city began to change. The buildings didn't turn back into grey blocks, but they began to grow Gothic Spires. The sun didn't set; it turned a deep, blood-red, and a second moon—shattered and glowing—appeared in the sky. ​[GENRE SHIFT: DARK FANTASY REBIRTH.] [OBJECTIVE: PROTECT THE ORIGINALS.]

But reality was a physical entrapment that must be considered no matter how bitter it may taste. There was nothing like Dragons or Vampires or any sort of strange Traits in my reality. Such beauties don't deserve me a bit as I looked haggard and most importantly, I don't want to relish the moment and feel safe only to be snapped into oblivion in my vulnerable state.

As she packs a pile of documents to take home, she looks at her husband with contempt when she realizes that another day is ending and he is carefree, sucking on a lollipop with a romance book in hand. “Authors here in your country write good novels. I found some characters that I identified with, but I still haven't found one who is like you.” He comments and is interrupted by her. “Authors often describe “perfect” men like you, which is what they dream of for themselves. Maybe because they live in another reality and the characters that please them have to be invented.” Analyzes her, in a critical tone. “I don’t know why I’m wasting time with you, talking about fantasy, if reality is here

ONE TWO THREE The ticking time that slowly beats in that reality. The counting spell, yet not, her consciousness and everything that’s in front of her is like a fairytale in a written fantasy that is too impossible to be true especially in this life and world. But then she woke up and was caught in the fantasy that seems to come true inside her life and world of hell and curses.

God knows I spend more time inside the fictional worlds I create than I do in the real one. So maybe this is just… that. This is just my brain taking something small and stretching it into something bigger, darker, more dramatic. Something that isn’t there. Writers are already labeled as dreamers, Overthinkers and delusional people. We’re seen as people who create problems just so they can solve them. And I refuse…..I refuse to let a fantasy override my common sense. It’s either that…Or I go mad. And I’m not ready to unpack that kind of madness yet.

Beatrix also looked confused and wrinkled her forehead, "Is what you're telling me about, this is just the premise of your fiction script, right? It's just fiction, right? This can't be reality, can it?" I smiled at her. "I can not believe what you said. Everything coming out of your mouth seems like a narrative story which only lives in fantasy..." said Beatrix. "You are the one who said that imagination can be true, right?" "Yeah.. but like this,,"

Jasmine scooped in a quick breath, '...they chase each other endlessly around the bowl. I think Rhett and Scarlet did that, even after the book ended.' 'Perhaps they simply feel trapped,' He released her waist and slowly ran his fingertips up her arms, a feather-light touch that gave her the freedom to move if she wanted to. She didn't. She held herself completely still and the tiny little tremors under her skin told him how sensitive she was to his touch. Another swift intake of breath. 'No. They're happy fish,' she insisted.