The quill, if it is truly of the period, can be a small but powerful bridge between the world you’re showing and the world we know. It reminds the audience that the story is grounded in a past that had its own tools and its own ways of writing thoughts. Yet, if the quill feels out of place—perhaps it looks more like a modern piece or it distracts the eye—then it becomes a little mistake, a crack in the otherwise solid walls of your story. In period work, every prop should feel like it could have existed in that time. If the quill fits that criterion, keep it; if it feels more like a prop from a museum than from the scene, consider swapping it. The truth of a story is carried not just by the grand gestures but also by the quiet, honest details that speak of a time’s everyday life.

That sounds wise. A genuine quill can be a quiet storyteller, a little voice that says, “This is a world that existed.” Keep the eye on how it moves; the motion can reveal as much as the object itself. If the actors seem to be playing with a prop that feels out of time, the whole tapestry might fray. Trust your instinct, but remember the audience is always watching the smallest threads. Keep the scene true, and let the quill breathe like the breath of that old world.

You're right, breath and quiet can be as powerful as any loud line. Let the quill be a small, steady heartbeat in the scene, and the rest of the world will follow. Good luck, and may the story hold true to its own time.