Yo.

...Why I'm doing an this 'intro' of sorts is beyond me, but I just had to register (and some highly intelligent individual decided I should wait three days before updating, so, I somehow got here...)

I don't want to say much about myself, but here goes...

Though my alias covers the basic 'essence' of 'me' embarrassingly well, you can call me Ria. Frozen by Sloth can be a mouthful, honestly.

I'm seventeen, artsy, and horribly odd in ways I can't explain with a list of quirks. Which surprises me because the profile pages of other people here tell me that everybody else can do that.

I heard sarcasm is the cheapest form of wit, in which case I must alert you that my wit and I are content with being practically for free.

I'm not a morning person, or a day-person at all. I'm not even nocturnal. That basically means I'm bitchy and broody all the time, regardless of when I woke up and when I plan on going to sleep.

There is a high possibility of you noticing problems with my English, in which case I choose to hide behind my Croatian nationality.
My language has no similarities to this one, therefore making me question and doubt myself, even more so since I don't even know when, where or how I learned English. It may be all the cartoons I devoured while a kid, but we'll probably never know.

I have no high hopes of anyone liking my stories, but I do hope you give me a shot. I'll do the best I can with it.

Honestly, just how bad can it be? ...Okay, don't answer that question.

And the white crow sang

This the first story I kept writing, and I've written about 90 pages of chronological events, and a few snapshot scenes that should fit in somewhere along the way.

Meet Sabryah, cold, detached and scorned after committing a crime no assassin should ever dream of. In a twist of blades not even she could maneuver, things got from bad to different.
She's killed her clan leader and left the one thing constant in her life. The Guild. For the first time in her life, with only her two feet leaving marks on the ground, she's less alone than ever. To top it all, she realizes what cold steel can't do.
Not that she was aware such things even existed.

Written from her point of view.

I had a shot at a poem, an autobiographical short story, so along with a completely random essay, (or a few of them, really), you can check it out.

- as you see, I have a beta reader profile, and I would love to work on something, so I'm open to suggestions.

"I wish I could write as mysteriously as a cat."
Edgar Allan Poe