Luke closed the door of the house, after saying goodbye to the doctor. He sighed, and began to play with the sleeve of his shirt. Arthur had been diagnosed with tuberculosis, like so many other times. The same tonics, the same inhalations... which still didn't solve the root problem. No matter how well he was for a while, the disease never seemed to want to go away completely. Luke suspected that wasn't the condition Arthur was facing, he had read about it, tuberculosis can come back a few times, but after so many years, it just didn't make sense for Arthur to still be sick.

He clenched his jaw and ran a hand through his hair. 

It was obvious that the doctors did not understand Arthur's case. Nobody did it. It was so unfair. 

Luke took a deep breath, sighed again, and turned around. He walked through the interior patio of the house, where the flower pots hung from the balconies, and the sun set, warming the ocher walls. He went up the stairs. 

The illness might be subsiding for now, but the attacks could return at any time. 

He knocked on the young one's door. 

“Arthur...? We need to talk…”

There was no answer. 

He opened the door. 

He stood paralyzed, looking at the empty bed and the open window. 

“No no! NO NO NO!” Luke darted into the room, looking around, searching.

His breathing became labored, and he put his hands to his head.

This couldn't be happening!

Of all the ideas Arthur could have! Reckless, naive, stubborn! He threw himself on the bed, and leaned on the window frame, to stick his head out and look outside. There was not a single soul as far as he could see, towards the immense meadow and up to the Andes.

If the disease didn't do it first, he swore he was going to kill him-! 

“Ah! Hello, Luke,” a smiling voice greeted, coming out from under the bed.

Luke hit one of the windows as he stuck his head in at high speed, making a noise. He placed his hands on his head with a groan, doubling over. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Arthur jumping on the bed.

“A-Are you okay, Luke?” Arthur asked with his hands close to Luke's redheaded head, hesitating whether to touch it or not. 

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Luke responded, straightening up with a grimace of pain, keeping one of his hands on the bruise that was forming.

Arthur fixed his gaze on him, expectantly.

Luke blushed, looking away from Arthur, frowning. 

Arthur smiled, and lowered his hands. Even though Luke was two years older, responsible, and elegant, Arthur knew he was still the same shy, reserved boy who became his friend so long ago. It had always been like this. It's just that Luke now had much more knowledge of etiquette, as well as a special fondness for the language of flowers. 

Luke cleared his throat. 

“Where were you?” he asked still a little blushing, frowning.

“Ah!” Arthur took a pencil next to a notebook that was resting on the bed. “I dropped it.”

Luke opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again, blushing even more. 

"S-Sure," he hesitated in response.

Arthur blinked a few times. Then, he fell back onto the large pillows on his bed, and kicked off the covers a little, then reluctantly put them over himself, and placed his hands behind his head, in a relaxed pose. 

“It's just that when you lose the need to sleep but they order you to rest, you get really bored, you know? So I thought, why not write a little?” Arthur waved the notebook at the side of his face to emphasize his point, hoping it would help Luke continue the conversation.

“Are you too bored?” Luke continued, losing his blush a little.

He changed from kneeling on the bed to leaning his back against the wall, closing one of the windows, leaving the one closest to Arthur open; he positioned one of his hands on his knee bent towards his chest, and the other extended forward. 

Arthur knew that was Luke's pose as a relaxed boy. The one he used to look more confident. 

“Oh! You have no idea!” Arthur responded, emphasizing the ‘oh’, placing a hand on his forehead and closing his eyes in feigned anguish, holding back a laugh. 

Luke laughed a little, and his blush disappeared.

“So much?” Luke continued.

“Very much, it's unbearable!” Arthur continued in his role, sighing exaggeratedly. 

They both started laughing. 

"Well," Luke proposed, recovering from his laughter, "what do you say if I take you for a walk in a couple of days?" 

"Nah," Arthur replied, looking away. “I'm not supposed to go out anymore.”

“I told you that we could look for alternatives, remember?” Luke moved his head slightly away from the wall, to better see that expression in Arthur's eyes. This was a complicated topic.

“...Yes, I would like that” Arthur responded, smiling a little, without seeing Luke. 

“In that case it is decided.”

"A date," Arthur joked, increasing his smile, looking into Luke's eyes. 

“Arthur!” Luke screeched, frowning, blushing again.

"I know, I know," Arthur repeated, closing his eyes and moving his hand, unconcerned. “You should put ice on it though, you don't want a bump”. 

Luke looked at him squinting, pressing his lips into a thin line. He decided he had to keep what little dignity he had left intact.

“Very good then. Yes. Look for entertainment that is not too hectic, alright?”

"Yep," Arthur stated, opening his notebook.

Luke stood up and left the room, leaving the door ajar. Arthur looked at the exit and put his notebook aside, sitting down, a mischievous smile on his lips. He had successfully avoided a conversation about his escapades and now had the day off.

Arthur took the quill from a pocket of his pajama pants. Now he could get on with the matter at hand.

He threw the sheets aside and went back to the study. Upon entering and then closing the door, a trail of blue light crossed the air and various objects appeared at the same time on the table in front of the window: books, papers, the notebook that he had left in his room and a chair, on which Arthur sat down. He looked at each object with pride, and began to review his notes about it, looking for things to correct or add. 

Two weeks ago, on April 15, he had decided to use the quill again. 

His curiosity was much stronger than his distrust, and he decided that it was better to understand than to fear. After all, it was his responsibility, and it could be... interesting... even useful. 

He started by taking a deep breath, closing his eyes, holding the quill and thinking about

Creating a pencil.

That appeared among the blue. Against the prognosis of my narrative. Again. To no one's surprise but myself at the time, I suppose.

Arthur tested it, wrote with it, and didn't notice anything unusual. Good graphite, smooth to write, just how Arthur liked it. He bit his lips. He could try something else...

And he did.

He created a candle, a chair and a notebook.

The same one he was reading on right now, in fact. Arthur looked at them again, functional, well finished, comfortable and tailored to him.  Against his will, something tickled in his mind, he tried to hold back, but finally, the temptation was greater, so 

He created beautiful editions of his favorite books and a book he wanted to read: Frankenstein. 

He reviewed them enthusiastically, but this time things were not as he expected: the writing was totally different in the books he had read. The story and characters were the same, but it was more similar to his writing style than the original. And, for the books he hadn't read, the title and back cover had a hint of what the book was about, but the inside was completely empty. 

On April 17 Arthur tried something more daring. 

He wanted to test the kind of "transportation" that occurred when he first used the quill. To do this, he used an afternoon when he felt better, a good sense of observation, and his memory of the routines of the people in the house, to sneak out to the garden. 

He repeated the steps, and thought about 

Appearing a few meters in front. 

Then

Be a few meters to one side.

And finally,

Go forward two meters. Again, three meters. And once again at 5 meters. 6 meters; 8; 10.

Arthur fell to his knees exhausted. He felt a little nauseous. In between the jump, for a micron of a second, he couldn't feel anything at all, couldn't see or hear, total emptiness; but, upon returning, everything returned at once, light, sound, color, smell, temperature, the sensation of a body and all its ailments. It was slightly terrifying, and despite being fun the first few times, after a while, his body couldn't take it anymore. 

It was a shame, for a moment he thought he could use it to sneak into town and back more easily, but walking sounded less disruptive and tiring. Moving 10 meters using the pen was enough for him. 

On April 20 and 23, he leaned more toward research than experimentation.

He looked in chemistry books, trying to understand what could cause that light from the pen. It didn't behave like a gas, it was more like some kind of weightless liquid? And the ink, which was usually composed of phenols, and sometimes organic chemicals, definitely could not be the material he was looking for. 

He tried using some basic tests, scraping the metal from the tip, to see what material it could be when reacted with different chemicals (he was grateful that his teachers had taught him chemistry these months, otherwise he wouldn't have the materials he needed). However, nothing conclusive was achieved. Although it was a metal in every sense of the word, due to its good conduction of heat and electricity, in addition to the obviousness of being a solid at room temperature, he could not determine what metal it was. 

He also didn't have much luck figuring out which bird the feather came from. 

On April 24, Arthur made some notes about his health. He hoped it would stay that way. Normally he lasted at least a month longer recovering after an attack, but this time his health had improved much faster. 

On April 25, the feather again made its strange properties noticeable, because when Arthur almost dropped a crucible, he managed to avoid its fall thanks to having the quill in his hand, because

It began to float before hitting the ground. 

Ugh! As if it was not enough he could already create things, he now could also break the laws of physics, fantastic! 

Arthur, despite me, was fascinated and played with floating various objects around the room. 

Finally, on April 26, he managed to make the objects he had created 

Appear only when he entered the room. 

For hes greatest convenience and my greatest annoyance. 

Arthur lowered the notebook he was currently reading, finishing adding some commas to his great research. Who knows, perhaps renowned naturalists would read it in the future when he revealed his great discovery!

He crossed his legs on the chair, and began to weigh his options. What else could he try? The objects were discarded, and they already bored him. No, he needed something more interesting. Something challenging. After all, a writer does not only rely on descriptions of objects and actions. He needed... 

Arthur opened his eyes and smiled, parting his lips slightly. It was perfect. 

He closed his eyes, concentrated and began to imagine. Pronouncing in his head:

It is small and hairy. 

In his hands, a figure of blue light began to form, while the auroras and words surrounded him. 

With big, round eyes. Its legs are padded, each with a spot. It has pointed ears, and a fluffy tail. 

I will create a living being. 

Arthur opened his eyes. He had a cat in his hands, his eyes closed, motionless, he felt her soft fur and warmth.

He swallowed. Was she really alive?

He felt her weight, and pulled her closer to himself. He strained his ears, and placed his hand on his lap, feeling the cat's soft breathing. She opened her bright, round, yellow eyes and stretched her paws toward Arthur, meowing happily.

Arthur's eyes watered, and he began to laugh, then screamed with excitement. She was alive! He had created life! She was so beautiful, she was his creation and she was truly alive. He felt a warmth in his chest and quickly placed it on the table in front of the window.

He stood up gracefully, despite it being the first time he walked, and began to move his ears and smell his surroundings.

Arthur felt his heart race.

“It’s impossible! You are so Beautiful! A-Ah! Hello, I'm Arthur” he approached the cat with his hand, not believing his eyes, and she closed the distance to be petted. Arthur laughed again, and a tear of emotion crossed his face.

Immediately, he looked for his notebook and began to write down what had just happened. The cat looked at him with curiosity. Then, she looked out the window, observing the garden, the large meadow, the mountains and the sky for the first time. Everything seemed so beautiful and interesting to her that she did not hesitate to jump out of the window, surrounded by a blue light, which allowed her to cross the glass without crashing, to fall on the lower tiles of the house.

Arthur froze.

Then he jumped on the frame and opened the window.

"Oh, nononono, pspsps, come kitten," he called, moving his fingers together, hoping they would catch her attention.

The cat looked back at him, then down, at him one last time, and then jumped into the garden.

Arthur jumped over the table, knocking over his notebook and some of the objects he had created, staining his pants with ink, and landed on the ceiling. He took the pen, took a deep breath and jumped into the void.

He landed well.

Thanks to the blue light that enveloped him.

He looked around and managed to see the cat sneaking through the bushes. He walked stealthily so as not to alert the kitten, feeling his footsteps echoing at the same time as his heart. Arthur hid in the bushes and watched her outside the fence: she was looking at the horizon and breathing deeply, with the sun on her face and the breeze on her fur, sniffing something in the air.

Arthur paid attention to his surroundings, noticing the delicious aroma of a lunch in progress coming from the house.

He wet his lips and lunged towards her with a jump, but she managed to avoid him, hissed and jumped on his shoulder, back to the house.

Oh. No.