Her pen is out of ink. She places it on her wooden oak desk next to the numerous pages of parchment. She thumbs through pages, checking once again for her mistakes. She reads each line fervently. Her thoughts are cohesive, the pages are her proof. She arranges the parchment in order, ties a bow around the pages; a red bow. It symbolizes the blood, tears, and love she poured into each word.
She breathes deeply, and sighs greatly. Her pen is out of ink. Her work is finished for the moment. Her story has ended, there’s no space for other words. Her pen is out of ink. She hooks the pen on the red bow of her parchment.
Glancing out the window as the wind blows through the trees. She takes another breath, picks up a new pen, and begins to write again.