She dreamed of an angel gliding from the sky, swaying like a feather caught in the wind. Then, a black monster of a man rose from the earth, cradling the fallen angel in his arms.
When she awoke, the warmth of the bed felt foreign against her skin. She was soaked in sweat, the remnants of the strange dream clinging to her like a heavy fog. The room around her was different, though it shouldn't have been. It should have been the same, but it wasn't. The bed was too soft, the sheets too warm. Gazelle's brow furrowed as she rubbed her face. Her reflection in the mirror was unfamiliar—her brown eyes held an expression she didn't recognize.
"It's beautiful…" she muttered under her breath, her voice a hollow echo of the feelings stirring inside her. She paused, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. "Damn."
She couldn't shake the coldness that settled in her chest. That strange feeling in her heart, the one that had started as a dull ache, had only grown sharper with time. The reflection that stared back at her seemed to hold all the answers, but she was too afraid to understand them.
Gazelle walked toward the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, but the chill didn't quite bring her back to reality. She stared into the mirror, her own eyes accusing her, and shook her head, trying to rid herself of the unwanted thoughts.
She was alone. Her life was full of empty moments like this one, and yet, it was all she knew. Was it enough?
The room, too warm for her liking, felt suffocating. She stepped out onto the balcony, the creeping vines of ivy that clung to the stone walls welcoming her. Her father had always hated the ivy, wanted it removed, but Gazelle had never let him. She loved seeing nature creeping its way into her life, taking over, just as the unknown was slowly creeping into her own mind.
The city below was a chaotic mess of life, yet it all seemed so far away, so unimportant. Gazelle leaned against the stone railing, watching the bustle of it all with quiet disdain. Nothing mattered, not today. She wasn't sure it ever did.
With a sigh, she turned back inside, her gaze falling on the laptop sitting unopened on her desk. Her publisher was waiting for her next book, but the words wouldn't come. She could feel the weight of her failure pressing down on her chest, suffocating her.
She wasn't ready to give up her freedom, but the thought of losing everything—the only life she had left—clung to her like a shadow. She couldn't go back to the family home. Not now. Not ever.
But what else could she do? She was out of ideas, out of strength.
Gazelle moved toward her wardrobe, frustration coursing through her as she discarded her pajamas in a haphazard heap. She grabbed a set of casual clothes, then tossed a few items—a candle, a hairpin, and a book—into her wooden basket. She didn't know why she did it, but something about running away to the forest always calmed her.
The forest was her sanctuary, a place she had come to cherish, a place of solitude where no one could reach her.
The air was thick with the scent of green grass and flowers as she found her favorite spot, nestled between two ancient trees. The soft whisper of the wind caressed her skin as she sat down, placing the candle between her feet. She struck a match, and the small flame flickered to life, casting an ethereal glow on the darkening world around her.
Gazelle closed her eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the fire soothe her. But even here, in this quiet corner of the world, she couldn't find the peace she so desperately needed. Her mind was a swirling mess of confusion, of lost inspiration, of memories she wished she could forget.
As she opened her book about dragons, memories of her childhood came rushing back. She had loved dragons back then, believed in them fiercely. But the joy they once brought her had long since faded, replaced by the shadows of her nightmares. The fear that had haunted her as a child was still there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to claim her once more.
A gust of wind blew through the trees, tousling her hair, the baby strands brushing against her face. Gazelle didn't move, lost in the rhythm of her breathing. The candlelight flickered but remained steady, as if refusing to be extinguished by the wind.
The night stretched on. Gazelle finished the book, but her mind couldn't settle. So, she lay down on the grass, letting her exhaustion take over. The wind rustled the leaves, and for a brief moment, she felt the pull of something deeper, something ancient.
A raven passed overhead, its dark wings cutting through the night sky. Gazelle watched it until it disappeared beyond the trees, a shadow vanishing into the distance. And then, her sleep was interrupted.
A figure stood before her, casting a long shadow in the moonlight. Gazelle jerked upright, heart pounding, eyes wide with fear. She scrambled to her feet, trying to make sense of the man standing in front of her.
He was tall, with dark hair and piercing eyes that seemed to absorb the world around him. His presence was unnerving, like something from a nightmare.
"Who are you?" she demanded, trying to steady her breath, but her voice trembled despite her best efforts.
"I'm your creation," he said, his voice smooth and calm. He tilted his head slightly, studying her with an intensity that made her skin crawl. "A character from your novel."
Gazelle froze. She couldn't comprehend what he was saying. This man—this thing—couldn't be real. But his gaze, dark and unyielding, told her otherwise. He was real. Or was he? Was this some fevered dream she couldn't escape?
"Don't worry," he continued, noticing her fear. "I haven't even touched you."
Her chest tightened as her mind raced. She stumbled backward, her pulse quickening. This couldn't be happening. Could it?
"I have to go," she muttered, backing away. The man didn't move. He simply watched her, his gaze never wavering.
"Goodbye," he said, his voice carrying an unsettling calmness. His smile was slow and deliberate, the expression in his eyes far too knowing.
Gazelle turned and ran, not looking back until she reached the edge of the forest. When she stepped onto the familiar streets of the city, her breath came in ragged gasps, but the world around her had shifted. Something was wrong.
The city was the same, but it was different. The air felt strange, the sounds wrong. It wasn't her city. It couldn't be.
She hurried toward her house, her heart racing as panic surged through her. But when she arrived, the place where her home should have been was empty, nothing but an abandoned field stretching out before her.
"No…" she whispered, the breath catching in her throat. "This isn't possible…"
People walked past her, their eyes heavy with something she couldn't place. Their stares burned into her skin. Gazelle felt a chill crawl down her spine. They weren't normal. None of this was normal.
Her thoughts immediately went to the man in the forest. She had to find him. He was the key, the only thing that made sense.
With determination building inside her, Gazelle returned to the forest, her steps quickening with each passing moment. But when she reached the clearing, the forest was silent, untouched by her presence.
A small hut appeared in the distance, its silhouette framed by the dark trees. She approached cautiously, knocking on the door, but no one answered. The unease in her chest only deepened.
She opened the door.
The smell hit her first—sickening, nauseating. It was the stench of death. Gazelle's breath caught in her throat as her gaze fell upon the body of an old man lying in the corner of the room. Her legs gave out beneath her, and she collapsed to the floor, bile rising in her throat.
She couldn't stay here. But she couldn't leave either.
What was happening? Was she losing her mind?
With trembling hands, Gazelle reached for a shovel in the corner and, despite the sickening weight of fear in her chest, she began to dig.
By the time the man was buried, her body was trembling, her hands covered in dirt and tears. She returned to the hut, feeling like a ghost in her own skin. She didn't know where she was anymore. Didn't know who she was.
Lying in the bed, the small flame of a candle flickering beside her, Gazelle stared at her burned hand. The pain was nothing compared to the emptiness inside her.
She had nothing now.
Nothing at all.
End of Chapter