May is long over, but I got one more story with Doctor Strange and the Cloak of Levitation.
Many thanks to silverr for beta and suggestions. :)
And Yet His Hands Still Shake
In Kamar-Taj Stephen had learned how to travel into the astral dimension, create mirror worlds and fold reality. He had practiced dozens of complicated spells, but there was one kind of magic he couldn't get hold of.
He was not able to heal himself. He had tried everything, but eventually the unpleasant, disheartening truth that his shaking hands would never be completely fixed started to sink in.
He accepted it, mostly. He no longer divided his life into before the accident and after the accident, but rather before Kamar-Taj and after Kamar-Taj. The red lines of the scars on his fingers and the backs of his hands were not shocking anymore; he knew that they would eventually fade and became less visible. He didn't spill his morning tea any more—he learned to fill the mug only three quarters full—and shaving was not much of a problem ever since he decided to wear a goatee. Cutting a roll of bread in two became much simpler once he started to help himself with magic (nobody was looking after all).
Still, every once in a while he was brought to the verge of frustration. Like today.
He wanted to write down his translation of an ancient spell from the book he had been reading. He used to like his handwriting. Once it had been neat and elegant—he was always writing with a fountain pen he had got from his father—but now he couldn't stand the look of it. It was shaky, barely readable. A first-grader could do better than him.
He dropped the pen, angry with his clumsiness. Should he make notes in the astral plan? At least there he would be alone, with no one to witness his failure.
No one apart from the Cloak of Levitation.
Stephen heard soft rustle of fabric, as the relic floated toward him, as if it wanted to look over his shoulder.
"What? Do you want to make some notes for me?" he scoffed. It was able to do many unusual things, but he doubted it could write.
The Cloak outstretched one of its corners and lightly brushed the back of his scarred hand. That gentle gesture surprised him, because this would indicate that it was able to see. Or maybe it only sensed that his hands had been badly fractured and put back together? Now there was surely a silent question hanging in the air.
"What has happened to me?" The collar of the Cloak moved slightly in what he interpreted as nodding. "I've had a car accident. Never text and drive," he added bitterly.
Somehow up to this moment it hadn't occurred to him that the relic was also able to show compassion. Well, it had tried to wipe his tears once, but he hadn't though much about that. He assumed it was just a sign of its unique...character. Sometimes it acted playful—once it hid under a bath towel and jumped on him when he got out from the shower. At night it usually rested on his bed, which Stephen didn't mind; the bed was huge, with enough space for one man and one cloak even if the relic spread its flaps to full extend.
Suddenly the Cloak started to act peculiar. It flew toward the door then back to him. There was urgency in its movements.
"What? You want to show me something?"
The Cloak made a small loop in the air, which Stephen interpreted as "yes". He followed it, intrigued (and happy that the Cloak wasn't dragging him this time). It led him to one of the glass cabinets, containing a small case. He didn't notice it earlier. The Sanctum was filled with magical objects and relics, he was sure he hadn't even seen half of them yet, let alone learn what they did.
When he opened the case it turned out it contained a green quill. He brushed it lightly with his fingers, but apparently that was enough to wake up its magic, for it stood up as if held by an invisible hand.
Stephen smiled. It seemed he was ready to make his notes.
A/N The quill is inspired by Self-Writing Quill from HP.