"You're late," Elara whispered to no one, staring at the empty corner of her candle lit room.
Her voice was shaky, but laced with something she didn't recognize, a need, a burn, an ache that only a shadow could fill.
The room hummed with silence.
The mirror still bore the crack of yesterday, spiderwebbed glass glinting under flickering light.
Fallon was asleep down the hall, the house finally still, and yet, Elara sat perched on her bed like prey waiting for the predator.
"You waited for me?" She froze.
That voice.
Smooth.
Deep.
Dangerous.
Her eyes darted to the mirror.
There he stood.
Marek.
"You take your time, don't you?" she asked, forcing nonchalance, but her heartbeat betrayed her.
She gripped the bedsheet behind her tighter.
"Time is subjective, Darling," He said, emerging from the shadows like ink spilling into water.
His black coat flowed behind him like a cloak of midnight. "But your wait makes you sweeter."
She exhaled slowly, afraid any sudden movement would break whatever spell brought him.
"Why are you here?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
He tilted his head, the smirk playing on his lips almost feral. "You whispered my name, you called me, you wrote me into existence. You made me want you. You made me hungry. Why pretend you don't want this?"
She flinched. "You're not real."
"Oh darling, I am. You made sure of that. You bled your obsession into every page, every word, until I had no choice but to come." He leaned close. "You created a god, Elara, and gods don't vanish."
She stood, suddenly brave. "Then prove it. Touch me."
His grin widened.
He reached out.
She braced.
And when his fingers brushed her cheeks, she gasped ice and fire at once, his touch was electric.
"See?" He whispered. "I'm more real than anything you've ever known."
Elara backed away, her knees bumping her desk.
Her mind was spiraling, chaos in a dress.
"This is madness," She muttered. "You are in my head."
"No, love," He said. "I'm under your skin. I live in your spine, your breath, your nightmares. You don't get to unwrite me."
She stared.
His eyes weren't just looking at her, they were consuming her.
"What do you want me to do?" She choked out.
He leaned against the window frame, moonlight painting his face in silver. "Everything. Your fear. Your love. Your surrender."
Her throat dried.
Her mind screamed to run, to call Fallon, to do anything but stand there, but her feet refused.
"Why now?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped closer again, his boots silent on the floor.
"You don't remember, do you?" He said.
Her brows furrowed. "Remember what?"
He touched the side of her neck, where the skin prickled. "The first draft. The original story. The version you deleted."
Her breath caught. How could he…..?
"You… you read it?"
He nodded. "I lived it. You wrote me first as a monster. A demon in disguise but you got scared and deleted it, rewrote me softer, more human, but I never left. I evolved. I waited"
Her knees buckled slightly, and she sat on the bed, eyes wide.
"Why come back now?" She asked, voice trembling.
"Because you started writing again," He said darkly. "and this time, I intend to finish the story."
She looked up at him, tears brimming. "I don't know what you are."
"You will."
The air grew heavy.
He leaned down slowly, lips brushing her ear. "Next time, don't forget to lock the window, Elara."
She spun around but he was gone.
The window was wide open, the wind curling the curtains like ghostly fingers.
And on the mirror, written in condensation was:
"YOU CAN'T UNWRITE ME!"
****
Backspace.
Elara's fingers hovered over the keyboard like they were about to perform surgery.
The cursor blinked. The screen held a chapter she just poured her soul into…..Marek's voice, his touch, his demands.
But it felt like poison.
The more she wrote, the closer he felt. Like he was slipping through the cracks of the screen, crawling into reality.
"I can't do this anymore," She whispered. "You're not even real."
Her heart pounded as she selected the entire document.
One line stuck with her. "You belong to me, Elara. Even if you write me out, I'll find another way in."
Delete.
She slammed her laptop shut like it could trap him inside.
Then silence.
Heavy, uncertain, but silent.
The next morning felt brighter, lighter.
Elara exhaled deeply for the first time in what felt like weeks.
She practically danced downstairs. "Fallon."
Fallon was on the couch in the living room, biting into a piece of toast. "Why do you look like someone who finally pooped after five days?"
"I deleted him," Elara announced dramatically.
"Who? Marek?"
Elara nodded. "I'm done. I deleted the chapter. It's like my head isn't buzzing anymore."
Fallon blinked, skeptical. "Just like that?"
"Just like that," Elara said smiling. "He's gone."
"Let's see how long this one lasts."
Elara laughed, but deep inside she felt clean.
Like Marek had been purged.
That feeling lasted exactly two hours.
They entered the literature class still joking, Fallon nudging her about coffee and croissants.
Then the classroom door creaked open.
A man walked in.
He wore a black, button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, he was tall, dark, thick with messy hair, olive toned skin, piercing blue eyes, pointed nose, luscious lips, sexy walk, he walked with grace and possessiveness, that would make any girl want to make him pregnant, lean muscular build and elegant.
His presence swallowed the air like smoke.
He dropped a leather folder on the table in front of the classroom, slowly looking up.
Straight at Elara.
Fallon leaned close to whisper. "He's…wow. Who is that?"
Elara couldn't speak.
He looked the same.
Marek.
But the name on the folder wasn't his.
"Good morning," he said in a low, deep voice. "I'll be your substitute literature teacher today. Professor Ellis couldn't make it." He smiled at the class.
Then his gaze found Elara again.
And stayed there.
Unblinking.
Dark.
Knowing.
Elara froze.
Fallon nudged her again. "Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"
Because she had.