Stars for the good Warhammer
It feels like Tzeentch is playing with my brain.
I have written a plot of more than 3,000 and nearly 4,000 words, but I feel dissatisfied no matter how I read it. My mind is filled with the sound of a strange bird. It seems that something is preventing me from seeing the true direction of this story line. It keeps popping up. Numerous disappointing development illusions have emerged.
Tonight, while that old bird is gone, I will take a look at the Well of Fate, and then think carefully about how to write the threads of fate of these characters.
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