The Storyteller returns

The moon was half that night, a silver crescent shape hung up in a starry sky. The curtains were drawn in her bedroom and the light was had long been turned off so dark overwhelmed the room.

The clock on the wall would tell her that it was time to sleep yet all her mind wanted to do was think. The young woman lay in her bed looking up to the ceiling her life seeming to have past so quickly she could hardly grasp it; however one thought rang through her mind and she spoke it aloud to the night eavesdropping night.
"My God, I haven't written in so long."

Those words seemed like a key which would open a treasure chest of imagination that would fill the whole in her heart.
She pushed herself up from her bed, like a zombie of sorts beckoned to her stance by the faintest of callings that hummed through the winter night like the contagious notes of the Pied Piper.

The young woman sat at her desk, her hands found the tip of her quill; which had not been touch for what seemed like a lifetime.
In the darkness of her room she wrote with no light, to guide the way of her hand, other than that of her imagination, re-inspired.

As her quill scratched to the edge of the parchment and as her ink splattered fingers eagerly reached for another page a smile lit the young woman's face and to the listening night she cried. "I'm back!"
And so the Storyteller did return...

...I have returned.

Xoxo