Sitting at her desk, alone in her room. Writing. Always writing. It was a warm day outside. Most of her friends would have been strolling in the quad or lounging outside on the benches by the pond. She felt that she was close. She had re-written and re-written this so many times. Only she could understand the symbols as they flowed from her mind, through her quill and onto the scrolls. She had abandoned so many scrolls. She kept them stacked in a corner of the room. Often she would return to them, select the one she wanted, study the reference, and return to her desk to write some more. Some days the steps seemed obvious. Some days she could sit and stare at the symbols and nothing would come. Today she could feel the symbols flowing onto the scroll. She had taken another step forward. It wasn't finished yet, but she could feel it just within her grasp . . . .
Maybe tomorrow
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