Mia sat on her bed, staring at the glowing screen of her laptop. The blank Word document mocked her, while the blinking cursor waited for her to punch something—anything on her keyboard. She sighed, her shoulders slumping under the weight of another long, disappointing day. Her head pounded, reminding her of the real world she couldn't escape, no matter how hard she tried.
Downstairs, she could hear her parents arguing again. Lately, it felt like every conversation with them turned into a fight. They didn't get it. They didn't understand her.
"Mia, when are you going to stop with these stories and focus on something real? You're wasting your time!" Her mother's voice replayed in her head from earlier that evening.
She had no answer. Not one they'd accept, anyway. Writing was her dream, her passion. But to them, it was just a childish hobby which an eighteen years old like herself needed to grow out of. They wanted her to follow a practical path—go to college, get a degree in something "sensible," and land a stable job. But the idea of living that life felt like a slow death.
And then there was Mark.
Mia blinked back the sting in her eyes. Her boyfriend—no, ex-boyfriend—who had dumped her earlier today. "Mia," he had said, "you're always in your head, in your books, in your world. I need someone who's... real, you know? Someone who lives in the present. Someone who wants to be a doctor, lawyer…even a bartender is real enough but books? Nobody reads those anymore, Mia, I don't want this relationship anymore."
Yes. She remembered every word because the came out of the man she'd loved so much than anyone else. She could still feel the burn of his rejection, the way he'd looked at her like she was a lost cause, someone who couldn't keep her feet on the ground long enough to build a life with him. It hurt more than she wanted to admit. They'd been together for two years, and in a matter of minutes, it was over.
The worst part? She couldn't even be mad at him. Deep down, she knew he was right. She was in her head too much, always drifting away into her stories, imagining a life where she wasn't just Mia—the girl who couldn't make her parents proud or keep her boyfriend happy. In her mind, she was more. She was someone with power, someone with a purpose.
Her gaze dropped back to the laptop screen, and without thinking, she opened the draft of her werewolf story. The words flowed across the page as she read, bringing her a strange sense of comfort. This world—the one she had created—was everything she wished for. It was wild, dangerous, and full of passion. The characters were powerful and free, driven by instincts and emotions that were raw and real. They weren't stuck in the same boring routine, and they weren't trapped by the expectations of others.
They lived, truly lived, in ways Mia couldn't.
She scrolled through the story, reading over her favorite scenes. Arianna, her main character, was fierce and strong, a she-wolf fighting for her place in a world dominated by Alphas and packs. She didn't let anyone push her around, not like Mia did in real life. No, Arianna took what she wanted, fought for it, and made the world bend to her will.
Mia wished she could be like that. But in reality, she was the opposite, hence the reason for the creation of such a wonderful female lead.
Her eyelids grew heavy as she typed and her fingers started to move much slower on the keys. The clock on her screen blinked 3:52 AM. She should've gone to bed hours ago, but the thought of sleeping—of waking up to another day of disappointing her parents and being alone without Mark—was unbearable.
She leaned back, her head hitting the pillow as the words on the screen blurred. Just a few minutes, she thought. Just rest your eyes.
Before she knew it, she drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
*****
A loud breath escaped Mia as her eyes fluttered open gently. Something was... off. The air was much colder than the fan which she had tuned to two. There was an earthy smell that didn't belong in her room. She blinked a few times, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her bed felt harder than usual. Colder, even.
She pushed herself up, heart pounding as she realized she wasn't in her bed at all. Instead, she was lying on the ground, surrounded by trees. The sky above was a dark, inky blue, dotted with unfamiliar stars, and at its center sat the moon, glowing over the forest.
It didn't feel like a dream, as she confirmed by pinching herself twice and shook her head a few times.
"What the...?"
Her pulse began to speed. She scrambled to her feet, eyes darting around. There were no buildings, no lights, no sounds of cars or people. Just the wind rushing through the trees and the distant howl of... wolves.
No. This wasn't real. It couldn't be.
She looked down at herself. Her clothes were different, too—gone were her pajama shorts and t-shirt. Now, she was wearing a dark, leather tunic, fitted snugly against her body, paired with sturdy boots and a belt that carried a knife.
"What is this?" she whispered, confused and frightened.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move. She turned quickly towards the direction, where upon a closer look, someone stepped out from behind the trees, tall and manly, with a gaze that made her blood run cold.
It was him.
The Alpha. The character she'd written into her werewolf story. He was just as she had pictured.
"No way..."
Her breath caught in her throat as reality—or what she thought was reality—slipped further away. This was her story. Her werewolf story.
And somehow, she was in it.!