He crouched over the parchment, fingers, enveloping a phoenix quill, quivering in agitated uncertainty. A thousand thoughts flooded his mind, creeping doubt attempting to clamber onto his bony frame.
He cleared his throat to help clear his mind. Characters had walked in and out as remnants of a shady past. He’d animated them, but ended up eliminating them altogether. He’d fallen in love with some and out with others, spending days staring at the sky, his mind wandering.
Throat clearing hadn’t helped. Heaving, instead, he dipped his quill in the ink bottle and scribbled, “It was the best of times,”