I sit over my tome, expecting words to flow upon the page like magic. Forming structure and sentences, worlds and lives. Craving nothing more than to finish a story, to just think of one to write down.

I gloom over the disatisfaction I have with myself. This stress apparant on my face for the Cat seemed to react. He strecthed his slender black frame and sat up to look. "Still unable to compose I see." He purred.

I slammed The Grimoire shut and turned from his judging eyes. "Im a writer not a musician."

He licked his paw knowingly. "Manifesting nothing at this point." He trailed off as he struggled to clean his shoulder.

I cleared my throat in agitation.

He stopped midlick leaving his tongue stuck out, pink admist the black. " Why not use magic?"

"You seriously think I havnt thought of that." I leaned back in contemplation. "I dont know any spells that would allow me to do that."

It was unnatural how Nox acted too much like a real cat, you know being a cait sidhe. it stretched its back into its claws and with a yawn "Try scrying. Tell me what you come up with." He folded himself into a ball, allowing his tail to flick off the edge of the desk. Not even finished speaking and he had fallen asleep with a sly grin on his face.

I turned back to The Grimoire with a grimace and opened its pages. As expected magically words scribbled onto the pages describing various forms of scrying. "Here's what he must he talking about, 'Spirit Writing',"

He purred at the words, hinting I was correct.

My hand relaxed with The Quill, held as if it was a wand, an extension of myself. I let all thought flood into me and out with deep breathes. Each release also poured out any distractions within myself. My mind as blank ad the page before me, began to fill with each scratch of the quill. Stories of each vision, no not stories... Dreams.