The Truth in Ink

Dedicated to all those who are still stuck in that cupboard under the stairs. 🌈✌

The quill was back. Same black feather with the same silver tip. Maura had never bought the quill, never borrowed it, and never asked it to return. She’d found it in the pocket of her robes the first day of classes, tucked away neatly beside a pocket watch her grandfather had given her. It was just a quill. No magical glow. No strange carvings. But it always came back.

By now, she’d tried just about everything: giving it away, snapping it in half, tossing it in the lake...still, each morning, there it was. By the time she had accepted the quill wasn’t going to stay gone, she’d written far more truths than she’d care to admit. At least she hadn’t screamed this time. That was progress. Instead, she picked it up gingerly, like it might bite, and dropped it into her satchel without a word. In any case, she was in too much of a hurry to worry about it at that moment. She had to hurry, or risk being late for Enchanted Linguistics. Professor Barnswallow didn’t tolerate tardiness.

Professor Barnswallow greeted her in his monotone cadence, welcoming the last few stragglers before the clock struck the top of the hour. Maura slid into her usual seat in the back corner. Out of sight. Out of mind, as she often told herself. Beside her a couple seats over, her classmate Nella was already unpacking scrolls and cursing under her breath as her inkpot leaked. “Do you have an extra quill I can borrow?” Nella asked Maura with a hint of desperation. Poor Nella… she thought to herself.

Nella was a good egg. Kept to herself, just like Maura did, but she was terribly disorganized. They were friendly, but were both far too shy to carry on a full conversation. Maura smiled, and before she could think better of it, she passed the black feather over. Perhaps it only works on the owner. Or perhaps giving it to someone breaks the curse. Maybe.

Nella accepted the quill without so much as looking at it and began to scribble atop her parchment what seemed to Maura like some sort of motivational phrase from Nella to herself. “I studied all night. I’m ready.” Nella then closed her eyes and took a couple deep breaths, as Maura watched Nella’s freshly written ink shimmer faintly. Not in a dramatic way, just a brief ripple, like morning sunlight through an empty jar. Then the words changed.

There was a pause as Nella glanced down again and Maura watched in horror. Not this again. But to her relief, Nella just snorted a soft, embarrassed sound, and slapped her hand over the page. The sentence now read: “I didn’t study very much. I tried. I got overwhelmed and started reorganizing my socks instead.”

Maura pretended not to notice and stared straight ahead as Barnswallow began to drone on about Latin and why it's used for incantations. The thap thap of chalk on blackboard began, followed by a small orchestra of uncoordinated clinks of quills being dipped into inkpots. As Nella began to transcribe Professor Barnswallow’s scrawl into barely legible notes, Maura peeked over to see Nella doing the same.

Maybe Nella hadn't seen the shimmer. Perhaps she thought she'd misremembered what she'd written. Either way, she didn't seem too bothered, not the way Maura had been the first time it happened to her. Still, if Nella brought it up after class, she wasn't sure what she'd say. “Surprise! You borrowed a cursed quill! You can't get rid of it, no matter how you try!” That would go over well. And if she didn't say anything? Even worse. She'd let her friend borrow it without even thinking.

The class went on and several pieces of parchment were filled with notes. Sighs and groans joined the scratching of quills as their hands cramped, until finally Professor Barnswallow put down the chalk and began to talk about midterms. As the class rubbed their sore wrists, Maura saw Nella pull out her planner to make notes. She gulped.

As her agenda sat open, Nella rested her chin on her fist and Maura peeked at her notes. Sure enough, the words faintly shimmered and “Review Latin suffixes for midterm” became “Hope the midterm doesn't have Latin on it,” while “Ask about extra credit became “Stare at the floor and let the chance pass again.” A note about joining a study group this weekend quickly became “Chicken out and hope someone asks me instead.” Finally, “Set the alarm for 6am to study” now read “Snooze until 830. Panic.” Maura stifled a chuckle and tapped her foot nervously.

As the first bell rung ending class, Nella tucked her planner away in her satchel, stuffed her parchment in her bag, and handed the cursed quill back to Maura, seemingly oblivious to its effects on her notes. Before she could explain, Nella politely thanked Maura, who stammered, “A-anytime Nella!” It appeared she'd avoided disaster, but Nella was in for a surprise later when she read her planner.

She had no idea where it had come from, how it worked, or what its rules were, but what she now knew for sure was that the cursed quill worked as well for others just as it had for her. That had made several truths it had uncovered so far–and Maura had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't done yet.

For the rest of the morning, Maura kept it tucked away in her pocket, trying her best to keep it out of her mind. For a few hours, at least, she actually managed to forget about it entirely. In fact, it wasn't until lunch that it came up again, in the form of the familiar, frantic footsteps of a very confused Nella heading toward her.

“Hey,” said Nella, catching her breath. “Sorry to bug you, but…did you see what I wrote in here?”

Maura blinked, feigning ignorance. “In where?”

Nella flipped open her planner and pointed it to the bottom of the page. “This…this wasn't what I wrote. I mean, I think. Erm…that is, I thought I wrote “Set the alarm for six,” but this…” she leaned in and whispered, “It says I'll panic at 8:30. In ink.”

Maura stared at the page and tried her best to look surprised. Or confused. “Weird,” she said, just a bit too quickly, “Perhaps you were half-asleep when you wrote it?” Nella didn't look convinced. “It's not just this one…the study group one’s weird too.”

Maura forced a laugh. “Perhaps your ink's enchanted. Or maybe your planner is.” Nella didn't look convinced. She just looked at her. Quietly. Like she knew.

Maura's gaze dropped. The truth sat heavy in her throat…that this wasn't the first time the quill had done something like this…that the first time, the truth had been uglier. The first time she'd used it, it had shown something she'd never admitted, not even to herself. But she couldn't bring herself to admit to Nella that she'd not only lent her a cursed quill, but that she hadn't warned her about it.

“Probably just stress. Midterms. Late nights. Everything starts to blur.” Nella gave her a small, polite smile. “Yeah, I guess so.” Nella gave a friendly wave and as she turned, her eyes lingered a second too long on Maura’s satchel. Polite. Friendly. But Nella wasn't convinced.

Maura waited until classes were over for the day before pulling the quill out of her satchel. Sitting alone in the common room, she stared at the black feathered object, spinning it in her fingers. It still amazed her the way it looked just like an ordinary writing instrument. It didn't hum or glow. It just was.

Determined to control it, she laid a sheet of fresh parchment down on the table before her. She'd write something safe, something meaningless. A harmless lie. Just to prove that she could. She dipped the quill, took a deep breath, and wrote:

“This is a normal quill.”

You know what it is. You just don't want to.

Maura swallowed. Fine.

“I am handling things.”

I am exhausted.

“It's just acting up today.”

It only acts up when you're lying.

“I am in control.”

You're barely holding it together.

Maura’s hand trembled, but she kept going.

“I don't care what it writes.”

A lie you've told more than once.

“I'm fine.”

You're just hoping no one ever reads the first thing it wrote about you.

She went still.

Her hand clenched tightly around the quill.

Then, she stood up, walked over to the fireplace, and dropped it in the flames. There was no flash, no smell, just the soft curl of feather turned to ash.

She didn't stay to watch. She already knew it wouldn't be the last time.