Making the Speech

I realize how late this post is, and it was completely accidental. I have been busy, along with dealing with some personal issues, and the combination of these two things have made me about two weeks late on my second post. I will try to be more punctual in the future, but I can not make any promises.

The black ink shines darkly as the pen stirs it within its well, causing the phantasmal reflections to become twisted and distorted. The young page withdraws the quill from the ink, and pulls it over to the sheet of parchment before him. There is a light sound of scratching as he drags pen across paper, making every stroke with practiced ease. A beautiful flowing script begins to fill the borders of the yellowed parchment, each letter pouring into the next, making it difficult to find a beginning to each new word. The scratching pauses temporarily as the page reaches up with ink-stained hands to pull the chestnut locks of hair away from his eyes. Once his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, the page begins to write once again. After a few moments, he returns to dip the nib of the quill into the ink. There is a loud clang as the first rays of morning light fall upon the polished silver church bells. Quickly, the page gathers his parchment, ink well and quill, and runs down the creaking, rough wooden stairs. He had a wedding to attend.