Were it right? Her decisions. . .
The young magician of Celeste found herself indulged deep within analogies— contrasting ideas and whatnot from actions.
Wrapped in one hand was a quill, dipped and dripping with onyx liquid, staining the empty-worded parchment that laid still on top a cluttered desk.
She was currently situated within the silent walls of the library, figuring things out whilst writing a report and apology note to the Council of Magic— for apparently 'breaking' the Law of Magic.
Whatever that even meant.
Stuck she was. The clogs wouldn't, unfortunately, work the way it was supposed to. Demoded, creaking, failing in terms of function which then results to the inability of reproducing a single letter to scribble.
"Arghhh!!" Groaned she, ruffling her already tangled
