Sisters of the Quill
Reflection
In a realm of crimson robes, they sit in silence,
Rows of identical figures, a symphony of diligence.
Their quills dance upon the page, a choreographed ballet,
As they weave their tales, lost in a world of reverie.
The hallway stretches, a tunnel of focus and intent,
Where individuality is lost, and unity is bent.
The light above, a gentle glow, illuminates their path,
Guiding their hands, as they craft their literary aftermath.
In this sanctuary of scribes, time stands still,
As the sisters of the quill weave their magic, unfulfilled.
Their red robes, a symbol of passion and fire,
Burning bright, as they pour their hearts into their desire.
The artwork whispers secrets, of a world beyond our own,
Where creativity and discipline entwine, like a sacred tone.
It speaks to the soul, of those who seek to create,
And find their place, within the rhythm of the quill's gentle state.