I'm secretly a night-elf in real life. A quirky night-elf as night-elves go. I just wear a hood to cover my ears. . . . .
Waiting; hiding; held prisoner by the shackles you put around me. After ten thousand years I will not let it end like this. This...sickness is infuriating. It makes my blood boil too much to endure. By day, I seperate what you see from myself--I walk with an unnoticable hunch, I do what works best for the company I'm in, I make people happy, and I don't fight back as hard as I'd often like. I do it for what; for a job? I do it for money and a roof over my head? What is it that is so hard about making my own shelter, building my own walls, and gathering my own food? Is it that this planet is so over-populated and over-controled that I can't build a permanent home, or occupy a vacant cave without being harrassed by some for of over-ruling government? Why do I bother? I'm no good at being a "professional" and I don't want to be a professional. I grew up thinking I could be anything I want to be, and be damn sure I know how to try. When I grow up, I want to be a monster. I don't mind having a profession, or a ...