I know what it feels like. The story is intricate, a finely-spun spider’s web. The characters are woven into the story; the narrative forms a cocoon around them, making the characters its own. The plot develops subtly, never giving away more than is required; its veil of mystery stays in place, fluttering every now and then. The emotions portrayed are intense — it has the ability to leave the reader breathless, lost for words. This opus will always stand out, always be different from the others on the shelf.
He sat at the desk in the study, scrutinizing the instrument in his hands. As a child, he used to sneak in here to play with his father’s instruments when he was away. Of all the instruments, this weathered compass had always fascinated him the most.
The sun had just risen. There was barely enough light to make out the path through the woods. As I stepped out of the trees and made my way towards the cliff, I could see the valley spread out below me. A light mist lingered in the valley, like a blanket the night had forgotten to pull back when she left. The mountains rose out of the mist towards the sky; giant guards keeping a watch over the sleeping valley. The half-light and the mist made the mountains look ethereal; as if they were the only beings from earth who were privy to the goings-on in the heavens.