Selene Ravencourt was dying.
The infamous Witch-Queen of Ebonmire clutched the hilt of the blade buried in her chest, dark blood spilling over her trembling fingers. Shadows curled around her in a desperate attempt to mend what was already broken, but even her magic could not defy death.
Across from her, the heroine— her foe and greatest mistake—stood panting, sword slick with victory. A flicker of regret crossed her eyes, but she did not lower her weapon.
"It's over, Selene," she whispered.
Selene forced a smile, teeth stained red. "No," she rasped. "Not yet."
With the last of her strength, she lunged, fingers curling around the protagonist's wrist, dragging her forward. Their bodies slammed together, one collapsing, the other caught in the fall. A shocked gasp echoed through the chamber as Selene's lips brushed the heroine's ear.
"If I go," she whispered, "I'm taking you with me."
A second blade, concealed beneath Selene's robes, found its mark. The protagonist's breath hitched— then, silence.
The chamber trembled. The stone cracked. The palace, their kingdom, and their battlefield crumbled.
Darkness swallowed them whole.
______
Lena Carter stared at her laptop screen.
Two words blinked up at her like a dare: The End.
She sat still for a beat, then leaned back in her chair. Her spine cracked like brittle paper.
It was done.
Seven books. One chaotic empire. Too many deaths.
Selene was gone. And so, finally, was Lena's deadline.
It should have felt like closure.
She'd dreamed of this moment for years—of ending the Bloodbound series on her terms. She imagined typing the last sentence, closing her laptop, and feeling something shift inside her. Freedom, maybe. Relief. Or just the ability to go on a date without mentally editing the conversation for dialogue structure.
Instead, she sat in her cramped apartment, surrounded by empty mugs and curling sticky notes, and felt… hollow.
She ran a hand through her hair and sighed.
She hadn't realized how far she'd let herself go—socially, emotionally, physically. The last person she'd spoken to face-to-face might've been her building's delivery guy. Maybe. And even then, it had been a grunted thanks through the door while she hid behind it in pajama pants and a sleep mask.
She had poured everything into this story. Breathed life into kingdoms, queens, betrayal, sacrifice—at the cost of her own.
Her phone buzzed.
Grandma lit up on the screen. Another missed call. She'd lost count.
Her grandmother had been on a one-woman crusade to get her married—or at least interested in someone with a pulse.
Lena was twenty-five. Turning twenty-six in two months. Not ancient, but not exactly bursting with romantic prospects either.
People always guessed she was younger. Probably the hoodies. The sleep schedule. The semi-feral energy.
Still. That milestone lingered like a weight she couldn't name. She thought finishing the series would lift it. That she'd feel weightless. Maybe even… happy. She'd go out. Date again. Touch a human arm that wasn't hers. Find a love that didn't need six books of character development to work.
But the ache had already started curling back into her chest.
The kind that whispered: You gave them everything. What's left for you?
Her phone buzzed again—this time with a name that made her groan and smile.
She picked up. "Lena Carter speaking."
"Lena! You cannot do this to me."
A smile tugged at her lips. "Hello, Margot."
"Don't 'hello Margot' me. You just sent the final pages. The final pages. You're really ending the series?"
"That was the plan," Lena said, stretching. "I told you I'd finish it today."
Margot scoffed. "You told me, but I didn't think you'd actually go through with it. The fandom's obsessed. You can't just… stop. Not when they want more. And not when we're still printing money."
"They think they want more," Lena said. "But if I dragged the story past its natural end, they'd turn on me."
"You say that, but this is the same audience that demanded steamy werewolf sex in book two, then whined that it wasn't graphic enough."
"Don't remind me."
"I will, because you're walking away from a goldmine. Do a spin-off. A sequel. Something."
"No."
A beat of silence. "No?"
"I'm done. No sequels, no spin-offs, no prequels. I love that world, but I need to come up for air. I haven't lived outside my head in years."
Margot sighed. "Okay. Fine. But don't call it a full stop. Call it a long exhale."
"I'll think about it," Lena said, knowing she wouldn't.
"Go enjoy your temporary peace," Margot muttered. "Call me when reality starts to suck."
"Doubtful."
They hung up.
Stillness crept back in—just the low hum of the laptop and the faint sounds of the city outside her cracked window.
The End.
The words glowed like a secret.
She folded her arms and tilted her head back, eyes closed.
But the ache stayed.
Maybe it was just the crash after years of focus. Or the kind of loneliness that didn't go away just because you decided to end your protagonist and antagonist like beautifully so you wouldn't have to write any more chapters.
Maybe it was because she'd built a world that gave her everything real life didn't.
In Ebonmire, queens rose from ash. Lovers held daggers to each other's throats for the truth. No one ghosted you after three decent dates. No one disappeared behind silence. No one loved you quietly, then left loudly.
She stared at the screen.
She told herself this ending would set her free. That she'd reclaim her time, her body, her dating life. Maybe even get coffee with someone she didn't invent.
Although… it would be nice to come home to four people who wanted to touch you like you mattered. Even if you did betray them and trap them in a crystal prison.
She smiled faintly. Then the smile faded.
At least Selene had them.
Lena had no one. Just a dim apartment, a blinking cursor, and the fading high of a fictional death.
Her fingers twitched.
Maybe she'd read the ending one last time. Just to make sure.
She scrolled up. The final scene unfolded across the screen—Selene Ravencourt, bleeding. Magic unraveling. A kingdom collapsing around her final breath.
It was everything Lena had intended. Sharp. Poetic. Tragic.
She reread a line. Then another.
And paused.
There, between two paragraphs—an extra word? A comma out of place?
She frowned and leaned closer.
No, not a typo. The sentence itself seemed… different.
She checked the previous draft. It hadn't changed.
But the words on the screen had.
Her brow furrowed. She stared harder.
And then she saw it.
The letters weren't just wrong. They were moving.
Shifting in and out of shape, blurring at the edges. Lines ran like ink bleeding through paper. One phrase melted into the next.
And behind the blur—
A shadow.
A tall figure, still and watching, framed in the faint glow of the screen.
Lena's body went cold.
She spun around in her chair, heart hammering.
The room was empty.
No shadow. No figure. Just the soft halo of lamplight and the steady drip from the kitchen sink.
She turned back to the screen.
The words were normal again.
You're tired, she told herself. Overtired. Hallucinating code. You just spent eight years with dead queens and unkillable lovers. This is what happens.
But the feeling didn't go away.
It crept beneath her skin like static. Like something shifting under her ribs, curling into the space she thought was hers alone.
A surge of emotion struck like a thunderclap, slamming into her chest and sending her hands to the desk for balance. Her vision swam; the room tilted sideways, like a ship caught in a storm.
Rage. Sorrow. Betrayal.
It hit too fast, too hard—and none of it felt like hers.
That was what unsettled her most.
It wasn't just the intensity. It was the familiarity. Like she knew exactly where it came from… but couldn't explain why. Her body reeled as if it understood something her mind refused to admit.
She'd written about feelings like this. She'd given them to Selene Ravencourt.
So why was she experiencing them?
Words, not hers suddenly slammed through her skull like soemone dragging a knife down her skin.
A raw cry tore from her throat before she could stop it.
Real and hot consuming pain ignited her nerves.
And just before everything went black, she caught a glimpse of her reflection on the dark screen.
It wasn't her face staring back.