[ENTRY 97..✍️]

She looked outside the window and most dreaded the faint hue of orange painting the base of the sky which had been pitch-black just moments ago, as if an alarm from the heavens sending her the warning that the momentary escape she spends in the darkest hours of night was to be soon severed by the advent of reality in the form of the blazing sun. What time is it now? She wondered in dismal disappointment, looking at her phone in which she rather was a vintage pocket watch.

Four-fifty-and-one, it showed.

Confound it.

She watched the burning candle in front of her flicker in the darkness of her room, a modest yet astonishingly beautiful invention that transports her mind from this modern world to a much simpler time, long ago—when the world was colder and people showed little skin; when legends and myths were either celebrated or feared to be true; when carriages and horses were the principal means of conveyance; when cloaks and hoods were commonly worn; when witches and fairies were thought to be real; and when letters and books were written through a quill. Oh, the magical comfort medieval fantasy gives her! And by igniting candles, to her, this mental escapade is most effectively powered.

She looked at her reflection in the round table mirror she had placed on her desk, a mirror rimmed with silver she preferred was gold. A great deal of her belongings just haven't the right colour and design for the ambiance she was immersing herself into, which is why the determination to execute an abundant change when she is to transfer to another room is filling her impatience with excitement. Big changes are about to come into her life, she feels, and she cannot wait for them to happen once her new chamber is ready to offer a fresh kind of old-fashioned comfort that will soon welcome her fatigued body each time she has set off to a long and tiring journey.

The yellow glow of the candlelight danced on her small, delicate face; and a beautiful face it was, if one could see it at this moment. See, one of the many magical things the flame of a candle can procure in the scarcity of light, or absence of it—which is an utter delight to her fondness of dark and mystical atmosphere—is to cast shadows and fiery hue onto everything it touches, which ironically, to her, reveals a mystery that is all at once hidden under the radiance of plain light. A regular face becomes interesting, a normal gaze enchanting—altogether bringing forth an enigmatic allure into the accustomed common and ordinary.

To be sure, her recent choice of literature and television series has something to do with her reawakened obsession for medieval and epic fantasy fiction, which resulted in her romanticising the present life in such described fashion. That literature being—J.R.R. Tolkien's legendary "The Hobbit": whose reading she had once attempted when younger, but soon gave up before she could even finish the second chapter due to poor and underdeveloped vocabulary. To her innocent defense, the number of dwarves and their names confused and frustrated the bejeezus out of her little mind. Do try remembering who Balin, Dwalin, Bofur, Bifur, Bombur, Oin, Gloin, Ori, Nori, Dori, Kili, Fili, and Thorin are—all at once. Who is who and which is which and who has what and who was...what? Surely this predicament threw your mind into a loop as it did hers because even until now, as she's still in the process of reading the very entire novel, that old loop has yet to completely loosen from her own head.

In later years, she watched the films with her university best friend and enjoyed them immensely, to the point of having binge-watched them multiple times. Now, she wonders how much deconstructionism was done with it and whether Kili really does have a love interest in the book as he does in the motion pictures. (She remembers they did this with Prince Caspian's character and Queen Susan's in "Narnia").

Now as for the television series, watching "Merlin" made her contemplate the desire to permanently curl her recently-dyed long hair again into one that resembles that of a princess. She thinks she looks best with wavy locks rather than her inborn boring straight and it is a tremendous drag to her slothful nature to always have to manually do it whenever she feels like having one.

Dilemma, dilemma ..

In the alternate universe she had created in her head, Arthur Pendragon plays her love interest and hero in the current events because why not? The actor who played him in the show is mighty handsome, it makes her blush. She inwardly chuckled. When did she become so girly? Thoughts of the past when she had been once a tomboy abruptly replaced the girlish mirth on her countenance with a shudder of utmost cringe and disgust. Oh, but she looked so hideous back then! That version of her would no doubt scorn and gag at her delicate femininity now. Can you believe she hated dresses? Dear me, but they are so pretty and lovely!

She looked outside again, the rising of the sun slowly nearing its full arrival. Sunrises are ever so magnificent but she detests it for it marks the end of the night—the part of the day where she is at her best wits, most peaceful, and above all—where most magic happens; easily making it her favourite. She took a long look at the car under the lamppost one last time, imagining it as a carriage and the latter a lantern. It's easy to paint the view she has beyond her windows into that of a medieval town when darkness helps obscure some of its trace of modernity. Soon, the sun would shatter the beautiful picture she drew to once again pour original colours to the horrid canvas of reality, breaking the illusion of castles she used to replace the skyscrapers with; the enchanted forest she casted upon the clumped dwellings; the occasional dragons she had made transform the unsuspecting birds; and the fireflies she had placed instead of city lights.

Call it unhealthy, if one must, but romanticising life soothes and gives balm to her troubled mind and sparks a creativity inside her that is thoroughly enjoyed with much pleasure and delight. Better that than staring listlessly at the ceiling doing nothing, aye? It isn't like she has lost touch of reality; dear me, no. She hasn't reached that point of insanity, yet; or so she hopes. She fought the urge to jest about planning to extinguish herself in the near future but since the world is going to end in five years—as the latest tidings say, she supposed she could wait and watch everyone else join her to perish. Haha. A hoot, is she not?

What's left of the dark is slowly wearing thin now. She blew the candle upon her study desk to kill its fire that bound her to a world of witches, dragons, swords, magic, gallant knights, and so forth; completing the transportation of herself back to planet Earth. Worry you not, she is fine. She is content and normal.

She is me.

Leily's Dear Diary