Her gaze drifted to the small studio behind the house, her father's retreat where he sought inspiration—or the lack of it. A smile tugged at her lips. Maybe he was there, lost in his creative process.
Lena walked toward the studio and noticed a faint light flickering through the window. She knocked softly before opening the door.
The room was a controlled chaos of scattered papers, pens, and sketches. Her father, Ethan, was hunched over his drafting table, his pencil moving furiously across the page with a passion she hadn't seen in months. He was sketching scenes for his next webtoon chapter.
"Dad," Lena called gently as she stepped inside.
Ethan looked up, his eyes bright with that familiar spark.
"Daughter!" he exclaimed, his smile lighting up his wrinkled face. "I didn't hear you come in."
"I just got back from work," she replied with a weary sigh, moving closer to examine his sketches. They were vibrant, filled with action and movement, capturing the essence of the story he loved. "These are amazing!"
"Ah yes... but they're not finished yet," he chuckled, pride in his voice. "I need to send these rough scenes and the script to the artist by tomorrow. They'll polish them for publication."
Lena nodded, her smile widening as she admired his work. The sketch depicted a dramatic scene of the male lead chasing criminals with his team.
"Epic!" she whispered, admiration shining in her eyes.
"Your fans will be thrilled with this chapter," Ethan agreed, a satisfied grin on his face.
Lena had been too busy with work to keep up with her father's webtoon lately, but her colleague Emily always filled her in on the latest updates. Though some coworkers resented Emily for giving spoilers after reading ahead, Lena didn't care.
"I'll make you some coffee," she offered, knowing he'd likely been working nonstop without a break.
"I already had two cups. Just grab me my cigarettes," he replied casually.
Nodding, Lena moved to the kitchenette, grabbing the cigarette pack and pouring herself a glass of cold water.
As she surveyed the room, her eyes landed on the trash can, filled with empty alcohol bottles and burnt-out cigarette butts. He was drinking again, despite his promises to quit.
Lena had fought many battles with her father over his drinking and smoking. He had made countless promises to stop, but he never followed through.
It might have been easier to accept if he only indulged occasionally, but his addiction was spiraling out of control. She worried for his health—especially after losing her mother to heart disease. The fear of losing her father too gnawed at her.
With a heavy sigh, she placed the cigarettes on his work table.
"Lena? Are you alright?" Ethan asked, glancing up from his drawing pad.
"You've been drinking again, haven't you?!"
Ethan met her gaze, then sighed, muttering under his breath. He had forgotten to hide the bottles properly. Lately, he'd been trying to dispose of them discreetly, but now he had been caught.
"I thought you said you were sober," Lena said, her arms crossed in frustration.
"Lena... it's not that simple," he replied, his voice heavy with regret.
"Well, it's not easy for me either!" she shot back, her voice rising slightly. "I work all day just to come home and find empty bottles everywhere. Dad, you need to stop... for your health... for me! Remember what the doctor said? If you keep this up, you're going to die soon!"
"Lena... listen to me…"
"No, you listen to me!" she interrupted, her voice cracking with emotion. "Do you think Mom would be happy about this if she were alive? I promised her I would protect you!"
"LENA!" Ethan suddenly shouted, springing to his feet. He glared at her, then rubbed his face in exasperation.
"Don't bring your late mother into this. I should be protecting you, not the other way around. But I need time. Just give me more time to get myself together…" His voice wavered, his shoulders slumping.
Tears welled up in Lena's eyes as she turned and rushed out of the room. Ethan sank back into his chair, letting out a deep sigh. His eyes fell on the sketch of the bloody murder scene he was working on, and he sighed again.
Almost instinctively, he grabbed the cigarette pack, lit one, and inhaled deeply. The smoke offered a brief moment of relief, soothing his frayed nerves. With newfound focus, he picked up his light pen, returning to the sketch, his mind slipping into the violent world of his webtoon.
***
The smell of soy sauce and garlic lingered faintly in the air as Lena set the plates on the dining table. Ethan shuffled into the room, his tired eyes avoiding hers. Neither said a word as they ate, the rhythmic clinking of utensils against plates filling the silence like a fragile metronome.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye, noting the weariness etched into his face. The argument from earlier hung heavy between them, unspoken yet palpable. Still, she didn't press further.
Once dinner was over, Ethan muttered, "Good night, Lena," and retreated to his room, leaving his plate behind.
Lena sighed, stacking the dishes in the sink before heading to her own room. She flopped onto her bed, staring at the ceiling as the shadows of tree branches danced in the moonlight filtering through her window. Tomorrow was another long day at work, and she needed sleep, but her father's addiction weighed heavily on her mind.
Finally, exhaustion won out, and she drifted into a restless slumber.
---
The sound of the wind rattling against the window woke her. The clock on her nightstand read 1:03 a.m. Groggily, Lena rubbed her eyes and swung her legs off the bed. Something felt... off.
She padded to the window and looked out. The faint glow of her father's studio caught her attention, the light spilling into the dark yard.
'He forgot to turn it off,' she thought, exhaling softly.
Pulling her cardigan around her shoulders, she stepped into the chilly night air and crossed the yard. The wooden steps creaked under her weight as she opened the studio door.
Inside, the room was exactly as he'd left it: papers scattered, pencils rolling to the edge of the desk, and the computer screen casting an eerie glow. But the chair was empty.
"Dad?" she called softly.
No answer.
A quick glance around confirmed that he wasn't there. He must have gone to bed but had forgotten to turn the lights off. She reached for the switch, plunging the room into darkness—except for the computer.
The screen remained aglow, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.
"That's weird," Lena muttered. Her father was meticulous about powering down his equipment.
She approached the desk, intending to turn off the computer, but when she pressed the power button, nothing happened. The glow persisted, a subtle white hue that seemed to ripple across the screen.
"What the hell?"
As she stared at the screen, an unnatural chill prickled her skin. The air felt heavier, almost charged, as if the room itself were holding its breath.
The glow began to intensify, and Lena hesitated, caught between her rising fear and an inexplicable sense of curiosity.
Her hand trembled as she reached toward the screen. The glow seemed to respond, flaring brighter as her fingers brushed its surface.
To her shock, her hand dissolved into the light, as if it had been consumed by the screen.
"Ahh!" Lena yanked her hand back, stumbling a step. Her chest heaved as she stared at her fingers, expecting to find them missing or mangled, but they were intact, tingling faintly.
"What... is this?" she whispered, her voice shaking.
She stepped back, her heart hammering in her chest, but the glow pulled at her. It wasn't just light—it was alive, inviting her closer.
Despite the terror coursing through her veins, Lena felt her curiosity overpower her caution. She extended her hand again, this time pushing further into the light.
Her breath hitched as her hand slipped through the screen like water. It was cold—so cold it burned—and she could feel the sensation of air brushing against her fingers.
Her heart raced.
"This... isn't possible," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
As she pushed further, the pull of the light grew stronger, gripping her wrist like an unseen hand. Panic gripped her as she tried to pull back, but the force intensified, dragging her in inch by inch.
"No, no, no!" Lena cried, digging her heels into the floor. She twisted, pulling with all her strength, but it was like fighting a riptide.
The light surged, engulfing her forearm, then her shoulder. It was relentless.
"Stop!" she screamed, tears streaming down her face. She clawed at the edge of the desk with her free hand, desperate to anchor herself.
But it was futile.
In one swift, merciless motion, the light consumed her entirely.
Lena tumbled forward, landing hard on what felt like solid ground. The impact knocked the breath out of her, and she lay still, gasping for air.
When Lena finally opened her eyes, she froze.
She wasn't in the studio anymore.