Digital Art made by me
Night had fallen, but a faint light came from the second-floor window.
Lurking in the shadows, I watched the cigarette smoke form ethereal upward spirals.
Inside, the protagonist of my story was daydreaming, immersed in the pages of his own story.
A shiver ran down my spine, icier than the cold that was seeping into my bones.
For though he thought he was the author, the truth was that his life hung in the balance in my hands.
I smiled mischievously, deciding on a particularly sinister twist for the next chapter.
After all, what horror writer would resist torturing his own creation like this?
He would never suspect that his reality was my chilling fiction and that he would die just like his protagonist.
