It started with an idea, a tingling in her fingers, a tickling in her brain. An urge, an urge to write. To do something with her ability. To jot down an idea, to jot down a creation.

To jot down something, anything. Anything would do. Anything was fine as long as she satisfied this itch. This feeling in her palm.

So she did. She wrote. She wrote what she wanted. But...it didn't feel enough. She didn't feel satisfied.

She thought about it for a moment. She never felt satisfied with any of her works. There was always something that needed to be fixed, an imperfection a flaw.

Yet, this girl, she needed to learn one thing.

That even the best writers out there have flaws. That sometimes, their stories weren't the best, that sometimes they felt unsatisfied, that they wanted more.

That it was okay to feel this way, to feel this burden on her shoulders, to feel this restlessness in her fingers. She needed to know, yet she already knew.

So, why wouldn't this feeling go away?