• My mind goes blank as I stare at the empty page, willing the feather in my hand to stain the paper with the dark letters of light poetry, words, stories, anything to escape the evil that was once my mind. All I can create are terrifying stories of things better left unsaid, unwritten, unrecorded.
    The clock chimes twelve and the dramatic sound echoes throughout the room. Once, twice, all the way to twelve. I know that if I looked down the page would remain untouched, pure as the freshest snow, untainted buy words of blackness.
    I look out the open window. Part of me sees the moon and wants to describe its beautiful radiance. However, my mind is dominated by thoughts of it being evil, poisoning everything it touches with silver. I am torn and in the end, the evil wins. I am consumed by thoughts of rage and hate. Cold anger, darkness, merciless laughter, all once more sing in my veins. I force myself to hold still, not wishing to mark the pristine beauty of the white paper contrasting on the dark wood desk.
    The candle flame flickers and the shadows, momentarily freed from their prison of light, dance around the room once. Motionless, I wait with bated breath until the light reclaims the realm of my study. Once more I look at the page. So pure, so untainted. I look at the bottle of midnight-dark ink resting near my hand and think of the moon.
    The cold, autumn-scented breeze comes through the window and blows the candle out with a puff of smoke. The shadows are set free, gleefully reclaiming their rightful places and i am claimed by the darkness once more.
    Steady lightness.
    The moon shines in through the pane of glass, poisoning,making everything it touched glow with an ethereal brightness, unnatural, evil.....inspiring. My heart lifts, my mind shifts. Quill falls into the midnight pool, and I begin to write.