╰ · ☆ › THE SOUND OF gentle tapping rattled in the air as wendy fidgeted with her pencil in hand. she was lying down on a quilt outside, feet propped up, swaying back in forth like they always did when she lied on her stomach. she’d been having trouble coming up with her next story idea for one of her classes, stuck in a writer’s block. she thought some fresh air would help her out, or that the nature around her would inspire her in some way, but her mind was still blank. after a while, she looked over at peter, placing her chin in her hands. ❝ i think my brain is broken, ❞ she stated as a matter-of-factly. ❝ well, not completely, of course. just the creative bit. whichever part of my brain that comes up with stories has kicked the bucket. ❞
@silvestriis









