Magic Ink...

She espied the Prussian blot.

She fathomed it's dark deep hue,

She grasped her soul glisten with hope,

The back of her pen toyed the dark blot,

She stared at the paper so bare, so cold,

Then, her fingers, they somehow managed to clutch the pen...

She began writing. She scribbled her dismal away. After an hour or so she sat there, exhausted. Exhausted from writing. Her lips were smeared with ink, her Gelid soul with warmth, the ink surely had some magic.