Quill

The woman looked at her hands where ink was still forming the delicate, long fingers. Creator looked upon creation and smiled at the perfect ringlets that formed a halo around her pale complexion. Sad gray, green eyes gazed at their creator and a tear of ink rolled a dark path down the fair complexion. Rose bud lips formed a single word that was lost to the sounds of the night. Creator looked upon her creation and whispered, “You were born, bound by the tides of time, and crafted by ink. You have a heart as black as night and a soul created by my words. You are tied to my quill. So, you are Quill.” The woman looked at Quill with approval one last time and disappeared, swallowed by the night.