Writers Block [For Cao Cao]
Untouched and pure, without a single blemish found on the clear expanse of the scroll. Such quality could only be achieved through expensive means, and Zhi had little worry over such expenses. Violet eyes gazed upon the parchment intently, as if seeking desperately something in its pristine, unmarked visage. This had been the scene of the study for the past hour, a stillness with the sharpened focus of the prince's gaze rarely seen. No move, no motion, the ink brush poised over the parchment as if a snake poised to strike.
Perhaps it was the soft morning mist that rolled in through the open window, gently moistening all it touched. Perhaps the prince had forgotten to properly clean the bristles after its last use. Perhaps the fates merely sought to bring life to the stillness of the scene. Or maybe, just maybe, the divines wanted to piss him off.
Whatever it was, a drop of black seemed to gather with the utmost leisure for an hour, unnoticed by the affluent noble, traversing down until it hung treacherously at the darkened end of a single bristle, a perfect tear that threatened to fall. It's warning, clearly, went unnoticed, and perhaps if it were sentient, one could have thought it insulted, and that perhaps that was the reason why it made good on its threat.
It dropped, and the blank scroll was now marred by a single splash of black.
Somewhere, about a couple halls down, a maid jumped at the thunderous curse that shook the walls, and scurried away in a hurry.
Zhi growled, ignoring the slight burn in his throat at such a bellow that escaped him seconds prior, glaring with an intensity that could have heated, nay, burned the scroll before him to cinders. A rare sneer crossed his features that gave him an eerie likeness to his brother, then it disappeared just as quickly as it came, instead melting into an expression of frustration, then resignation.
For days, no, weeks, his mind had been filled ideas and thoughts, all burning within to be released, yet blocked. As though a wall separated him and the tempting fruit of his thought, a wall he could not break nor find entry to. It was foreign and upsetting; never before had the handsome prince been faced with such a situation, and he could not help but worry it was, perhaps, sickness or even… Perhaps even lost his ability to write- No. No, that would never happen. For without poetry, he would lose who he was, and that was… Impossible to contemplate.
He stared out the window, distress clear on his face as he gazed at the gardens. Beautiful, utterly so, enough to drive words of prose and praise from any who witnessed it. But Zhi... Found nothing. Blank, empty, idea and words, but not in any way that made sense. This... This was a nightmare.
"...Fuck."
