Hanging hoops line the front window, as well as silver stars on chains. Maybe she can write something here. The mood’s just right. She wanted to feel a spark– that sudden bout of excitement that gets her heart racing from the ideas rushing out. But she doesn’t feel anything. Abandoning the quill, she picks up her wand, swinging it in circles, with no apparent fear of dropping it. Mer mother would kill her if it was found in pieces, but the satisfaction of hearing it smash would be worth it.
Write? Do magic? Write? Do magic? The two options constantly went through her head, but she could never decide which was better, or more productive. A shower of sparks fly out of her wand as she flicks the tip lethargically, and it throws a pile of the books to the floor. Maybe she could trash the room for a bit. That would be fun.
No. She should write, she thinks, turning to her blank pad. But write what? She can’t just do it. She needs ideas. She isn’t someone who has that muse of inspiration whispering to her every five minutes. Maybe she should write about her spells. That would be useful as well as productive. A spell-book. She grins. How cliché.
Bobby, her budgerigar, flies to her shoulder in an audible ruffle of feathers. She traces her forefinger over his soft chest, smooth like velvet and plump like fruit. He doesn’t even flinch from her touch. He just sits and nibbles his plumage while she watches with amusement.
More distractions, she thinks.
A sigh escapes her as she finally picks up her quill, holding it tightly, like she’s determined to create a masterpiece. Maybe she would write about her spells. Just for future reference. For all the important things she would need to remember for battles, move higher up the noble classes, and reach her highest potential.
So, with a new air of inspiration flowing through her, she writes on the page:
Chapter 1: How To Turn a Budgie into a Piñata.
She hums happily. Good start.
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