When I am reading I often think that a dead person is talking to me. It is somewhat comforting to think that people that lived in another time talk across the centuries to pass their stories to me.

It’s like I am in a ye old cottage, while some grumpy old woman tells me stories over some ale or mead, and I listen in while my sword digs into my side. Its a magic place to be be listening, in my mind to their struggle

Sort of like time travel to cross the time and hear. It makes you wonder about the stories before writing and the ones that are not written that would be fascinating to hear.

There could have been some really funny people who where trapped as farmers, soldiers or kings. Their funny stories are silent and will never be heard.


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