Looking up from the page, the black ink still glistens in her eyes. The words are still reflected there for that instant, gleaming. And through the blackness of that ink, a glimpse of the world beyond. But only for an instant. As her mind returns to reality, the blackness fades and the normal colour of her eyes returns. Like a sleeper awakening from a deep and meaningful dream, she becomes aware, slowly and sluggishly. But soon, that world is forgotten. Pushed back to a corner in her mind. But it will always linger there, ready. The next time she looks at the page, the next time she reads that ink, or even the next time she picks up a pen and makes that first black mark on a crisp, white page, it will pounce and capture her mind once more. And she will be that dreamer again, hard to awaken and lost in that world. A slave to the black, glistening ink.