Free to Write

The written version of all her head contained poured out of her quill as if by magic, as if some entity had taken hold once the door opened. the word was power, she knew, which was why she was careful and so silent most of the time. One word out of place could create catastrophe. So why now this explosion onto paper of all she knew and all she could not know..? Was it safer or would it limit the creativity or make it so more real that this reality? Who was this voice, this quill, seeking the written version?