I sit alone in the quiet, eyes glued to the glass bottle in my hands. I don’t know what it once held but now, deep inside, sits a small paper ship.
The paper has crisp folds, a few wrinkles where it was not properly pressed. My initials are on one side of it, stark black lines against the white.
I press my lips to the mouth of the bottle and blow. My magic pools from my lungs, filling the bottle with a gentle white cloud.
I seal the bottle and look over my work. The ship bobs in a small ocean, no longer paper. The mast flutters against the wind and the wood of its body creaks in time with each bob on the gentle waves.
I set the bottle next to the others decorating my wall. There’s still space left so I grab another sheet of paper and a glass bottle.