Author has written 2 stories for Fifty Shades Trilogy, and Hobbit.
I'll read my books
the worth of a book is to be measured by what you can carry away from it
Another year has come and past, like moments through an hourglass, but at the end of this years trail.
For things that are old, have the best tales to tell, unusually...they tell them well.
So it's here my dear's, that our story truly starts. When the Lord sent once more to the earth, an angel with a childlike heart. And on this night his mission was to find somewhere on this earth, that human that best reflected his son, and carried on his work. And since this mission from his Lord, had to be completed on this one night. The Angel quickly unfolded his wings and towards the earth took flight.
And this night, *Chuckle* in case you have not guessed, was once more, Christmas Eve! When snow and light and angels' flights all together weave. But of the angel's instructions there was one thing more, that would make this journey to the earth, harder than all the ones before.
For the Lord had also told the angel that he could only use his wings twice, this Christmas Eve. Once when he descended to the earth, and once more when he would leave
Now this put quite a complication, in what the had angel planned. For now he had to choose most carefully, exactly where he would land. He needed to find a single place that would represent all mankind, but humans were such a varied lot, such a place would surely be hard to find.
A single place where there would be humans of every race and creed, the rich and poor, the thrilled and bored. The failures with those who succeed. But after a few moments, carefully placed in thought, the answer appeared in the angel's mind, the city called New York! And as he neared that city, where all those souls did dwell, he felt himself being drawn towards an old rundown hotel.
For in a city that usually had guards at nearly every single door, this one just had a sign that said, vacancies, there is always room for one more.
The walls were made of granite, not aluminum or steel, and every pillar and balustrade still had its artist's feel. Every gutter had a gargoyle, every gargoyle had its wings.
The dream still wanders
As it was meant to be
Of children and circumstance
Windows of frosted ice
In the night and the dream
In the depths of a night
And it covers the land
And then what you'd thought lost