Stylo slept quite soundly that night, waking up bright and early as the soft light of early sunrise began drifting in through the window (whether or not he dreamt of Cloudchaser he couldn’t remember). He sat comfortably on his bed, once again writing in his little black book. He wasn’t frustrated or upset at his lack of creativity, anymore – in fact, he was quite amused by Cloudchaser’s ability to leave his inner monologue speechless.
He simply wrote what came to mind, careless of its eloquence or coherence.
A grey Pegasus
Yes, that’s true
Quite familiar, actually
As the Pink one would...
continue reading...
