My sister convinces me to start playing World of Warcraft with her. Each character has their own hearthstone in its backpack. As I leveled my character, i would speak to new innkeepers, changing my hearthstone once every five levels or so. My character wandered from place to place, with nowhere to call home.

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At first, i would lay my character down on a bed or hammock in the inn before logging out. I long to write a blog telling my character's story.  I marvel at how large the lands of Azeroth seems, am proud of which quests i have completed, warm towards non-player characters that become as familiar as old friends.  I imagine a pretend narrative was unfolding before my eyes, through my fingers.

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Once i reached level 70, i began joining raids, going into Kara and killing monsters for gear and mounts. I experienced voice chat for the first time, am astonished that some people think that the word hearth is pronounced like earth with an h tacked on the front. Home is where the heart is. Over time, the awe and wonder seems to have faded somehow, but Azeroth is part of me now. She calls to me when i am away.