Visyn's Entry!
A small light on the desk is the only light source for the writer, who fills sheet after sheet with hastily written words. The room is a mess, the garbage tin lies on its side and the contents are spread over the floor. A cat sits on the cabinet, licking its paw.
A crow settles on the windowsill and caws. "Not now," muttered the writer. The cat turns its attention to the crow.
The crow fluttered its wings before cracking its beak open. Human words spilled from it's beak, arguing with the writer. "If not now, then when? I have been most generous in giving you time." The writer gave a soft groan, a hand going into their hair to push the disheveled long hair out of their face.
"I'm trying! I.." They groaned again, sitting up from the desk and leaning back in the chair. "I don't know where the words went. They're gone." The crow cawed again, before letting more words spill from its beak. "The point was to find them."
The cat moves from it's perch, jumping onto the desk and then reaching over to rest her paws on her master's chest. She nudged their face, rubbing along their jaw and face, trying to calm them down. A soft laugh escapes the writer, an inked hand coming up and petting along the feline. They gave a soft sigh and let their gaze move to the crow on the sill.
The crow seemed to only look back, beady eye boring into the writer as they stared at each other. A trick of the mind is what seemed to happen next. Shadows spilled from the crow, seeping into the room and along the walls. The shadows encased the room, darkening the light from the desk. The room was now only darkness, with the smallest flicker from the desk light.
The writer pulled the cat against their chest, standing quick when a feathered shadow descended upon them, making them fall to the floor and stare into the bead of very large eye. A new voice, unlike from the crow seeped into the darkness; deep, and reverberating in the writers chest. "Time is done and your words are mine."
Before the writer could say anything, literal words seemed to stream out of their opened mouth. Sentence after sentence, punctuation, and all words. They filtered out of the writers mouth like the shadows were urging them to come, to escape their prison of the writers mind. They moved into shadows, seeping into a dark red color from their original white. The words lined the shadowed walls, forming paragraphs and eventually what looked like pages. Once a page was complete, the words ran like liquid and then disappeared to make room for new ones.
Time passed perpetually, the writer no longer conscious as the words continued to spill from them. The feline sat next to the writer, tail flicking back and forth as she watched the words leave and line the walls. She then moved and hoped onto the desk, then the cabinet and settled back in her spot. The shadows slowly receded once all the words were taken. The crow sat on the sill again, fluttering its body to settle the shadows.
The writer roused from their passed out state, moving to get up and rub at their eye. They sat back in the seat, looking to the papers in front of them and gave a soft sigh, reaching over to grab the pen from the desk and go back to continuing to write furiously.
A small light on the desk is the only light source for the writer, who fills sheet after sheet with hastily written words. The room is a mess, the garbage tin lies on its side and the contents are spread over the floor. A cat sits on the cabinet, licking its paw.
A crow settles on the windowsill and caws. "Not now," muttered the writer. The cat turns its attention to the crow.
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