[ WP ] The most powerful spell ever forged .

The quill skated against the parchment for the thousandth time that evening. 
 
 He was so close, he could feel it, the feeling of pressure right as you break the surface of the water. 
 
 If only he could draw that single breath he'd longed for all this time, to be able to instantiate what lay at the fringe of his mind. 
 
 Flitting away when called upon, like a skittish deer; something curious, yet fearful. 
 
 Angrily, he snatched the parchment from the desk, sloppily crumpling it, and throwing it into the ever expanding pile of paper piled in the corner. 
 
 
 Leaning back in his wooden chair, the sorcerer gazed at the ornate mirror hanging above the desk. Stroking his short grizzled beard, which he felt made him look rater adventurous, he mused to himself *That is the look of freedom, the look of youth. * 
 
 The cuckoo clock rang out behind him; not turning his head, the enchanter observed the intricate bird decorated in broken egg shells emerge from the reflection. 
 
 Suddenly, the sorcerer jolted straight up, as he threw everything off the desk, save for a single scroll, bottle of ink and quill. 
 
 `` Cuckoo'' cried the clock 
 
 His fingers blazed as the words ran across the paper, seemingly of their own accord. 
 Line upon a line, invocation formed itself. 
 The sorcerer, realized what had been missing all this time. 
 
 The clock continued to ring out the hour, `` Cuckoo'', it cried. 
 
 Grabbing the gold-framed mirror, the enchanter let it fall against the surface of the desk 
 A hairline crack formed, followed quickly by it shattering completely. 
 
 `` Cuckoo'' cried the clock. 
 
 He rapidly acquired a shard, and made a shallow cut across his forearm, allowing the blood to drip over the desk and the writing. 
 
 `` Cuckoo'' cried the clock. 
 
 The parchment glowed with a shimmer of light, a sight the enchanter knew well as script being transcended into magic. 
 His eyes twinkled with satisfaction as he skimmed the still wet script. 
 
 `` Cuckoo'' cried the clock. 
 
 Satisfaction, which was quickly turned to trepidation. 
 
 `` Cuckoo'' cried the clock 
 
 Trepidation, which quickly turned into dread. 
 
 `` Cuckoo'' cried the clock 
 
 He looked at the mirror shard still clutched in his withered, wrinkled hand. 
 The face that stared back at him he knew belonged to him, but gone was the grizzled beard and twinkling green eyes, instead replaced by sunken pupils and a long, unkempt white beard. 
 
 Glancing at the paper, he once again observed the words. 
 
 YOU'VE TRIED THIS BEFORE. 
 
 Stumbling out of his chair, the sorcerer took his place amongst the skeletons strewn about the room. 
 
 *Hopefully*, the spell caster thought, *I'll be smarter next time. *, as he closed his eyes once more. 
 
 `` Cuckoo'' cried the clock, and somewhere out there, a newborn child cried along with it.
