Hinata gripped the book like a shield as she stepped deeper into the library. Every shelf loomed taller than she remembered, the aisles narrowing, shadows stretching longer. The hum of the lights faded behind her, replaced by a soft, rhythmic rustling—like pages turning in the dark.
She followed Alya's voice, faint and trembling, echoing through the maze of books. Each whisper tugged her forward, past shelves of ancient novels and forgotten archives. Dust clung to her hair, and the smell of old paper filled her lungs.
"Almost there," Alya breathed.
At last, Hinata saw a faint glow at the end of a cramped corridor. She pushed aside a stack of loose papers and stepped into a hidden room, dimly lit by a single, flickering bulb.
The room was filled with filing cabinets, each drawer labeled with cryptic titles: "Unwritten Dreams," "Abandoned Characters," "Erased Scenes." And in the center, atop a metal table, lay a battered manuscript.
The title page read: *We Were Written to Love, Then Deleted.*
Hinata's hands shook as she opened it. The first chapters mirrored everything she'd read in the book—her late nights in the library, Alya's fading voice, the growing threat of the Writer.
But near the back, entire pages were torn out. Jagged edges bled into blank spaces, as if someone had ripped the ending away before it could be written.
"No," Hinata whispered. "It's gone…"
Suddenly, the temperature dropped. Frost crawled across the metal table, cracking the corners of the manuscript. A voice, low and venomous, hissed from the doorway.
"You shouldn't be here."
Hinata spun around. In the doorway stood a woman cloaked in black ink, her face hidden by a shifting mass of words. The Writer.
"You can't stop me," the Writer snarled. "This story is mine. And I will end it however I please."
Hinata clutched the manuscript to her chest, backing away. "I won't let you erase her!"
The Writer advanced, the shadows swirling around her feet. "Then you'll be deleted with her."
Hinata searched desperately for an escape, but the shadows were already creeping across the floor, hungry tendrils reaching for her ankles.
"Hinata… run!" Alya's voice echoed from nowhere, urgent and afraid.
Hinata bolted into the stacks, clutching the torn manuscript, the Writer's furious screech ringing in her ears.