When I was young, I was bullied, and for a long time, I only had two friends. The world often felt cruel and isolating, and I didn’t always understand why life could be so unfair.

​

So my imagination became my safe place.

​

I began creating stories—not just as entertainment, but as survival. I built worlds where things were still difficult, still messy, still real… but where another version of me could exist. A version that mattered. A version that was strong. A version that was important in a universe that finally noticed her.

​

Looking back now, I understand that this is what survival can look like for a lonely kid.

​

I believed in those characters more than I believed in reality. They stayed with me. They carried me through the days when nothing else could.

​

Now that I’m older, these stories are my way of paying tribute—to the characters, the worlds, and the imagination that helped keep me alive when life didn’t feel fair.

​

I owe these characters more than I can ever explain. I love them deeply. And I can only hope that one day, the world will love them too… just as much, if not more.

​

​

​

​