“There’s no such thing as magic,” he voiced absentmindedly. He scratched his chin, his fingernails dragging over the short stubble of whiskers. He reached out with his right hand, carefully bringing it closer to the floating quill. He extended his index finger and gingerly made contact with the quill. The aura of Twilight’s purple magic seemed to flicker and dim slightly. He retracted his finger and the aura brightened, becoming normal once again. He touched his finger back to the quill once again, this time leaving it there. The magic didn’t waver this time, but rather suddenly died out completely. The quill fell to the floor of the padded cell, leaving a small black ink dot where the nub fell. 