The quill this evening is not a mere instrument, but a primordial beast,
A lacquered leviathan with a tip sharp as obsidian fangs,
Its body coiled like an ouroboros, devouring its own ink in vengeance,
It struggles under my grip, a relic of extinct empires, growling glyphs older than rivers.
When I dare to drip her name on parchment,...
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