“Miss Thena! You’ve missed your deadline again! How many times do I have to tell you not to postpone your work?” The editor let out a long sigh.

  “Fine… here’s the deal. I’ll give you one week to finish the new chapter. If you can’t—or don’t—then we’ll just cancel the book. Agreed?” His eyes bore into hers, waiting.

  She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

  “So? Answer me, Thena.” He rolled his eyes, exhaling with irritation. Patience—whatever little he had—was gone.

  Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, until finally he shook his head and walked away.

  Thena slumped back in her chair, letting out a long, defeated sigh.

  “Why… why did I even think I could do this?”

  The question lingered in the empty room, echoing in her mind. Writing a novel had sounded like a dream once. Now, it felt like a trap.

  Thena stared at the blank page, the cursor blinking like it was mocking her.

  She used to fill notebooks without thinking—ideas spilling faster than she could write them down. Back then, stories were freedom. Now, they were deadlines.

  Her first two novels had gone viral. Readers flooded her pages, waiting, demanding, believing in her more than she believed in herself.

  Then came the scandal. She was framed for plagiarism. Everything she loved about writing—the joy, the freedom—felt like it had been ripped away.

  People she trusted began looking at her differently. Every comment, every review, every message that once inspired her now cut deeper, a constant reminder that her life had turned upside down.

  She withdrew—stopped reading messages, stopped writing, stopped believing the silence would pass. What was once her refuge became something she feared, and even the blank page felt heavy with accusation.

  All she wanted now was time.

  A pause.

  A silent place where expectations could no longer reach her.

  I don’t hate writing, she thought. I just need to breathe.

  She grabbed her jacket and stepped outside, letting her feet carry her anywhere—nowhere—until she realized she had lost all sense of direction and dissociated from reality.

  Drifting without purpose, she suddenly realized she was standing on the brink of a cliff.

  “Woah—” She stumbled back with a nervous laugh. “That was close. If I hadn’t noticed…”

  Her laugh faded as her gaze slipped downward.

  The water below caught her eye—beautiful, endless, and utterly merciless. It shimmered quietly, as if waiting, and somewhere between the wind and the silence, a quiet thought took root: surrendering to the fall might finally bring peace.

  She stepped forward.

  No fear. No hesitation. Just the simple act of moving.

  The ground disappeared beneath her feet, and the wind rose to meet her. Her body fell, light and distant, as if it no longer belonged to her at all.

  The only thought that passed through her mind was that she was free.

  When her body met the water, time seemed to stretch and fracture. The impact felt distant, unreal, as if the world had slowed just for her. Her breath slipped from her lungs in quiet fragments, carrying with it every feeling she had left unspoken.

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  Memories surfaced one by one—every failure, every small hope, every moment she had endured—replaying themselves as each breath faded. Her sorrowful eyes finally spilled a tear, dissolving into the endless blue beneath her.

  I wish I could keep writing, she thought. Maybe in another life, things will be better.

  And then—everything went blank.

  Thena—younger—sat cross-legged on the floor, papers scattered around her like fallen leaves.

  “One day,” she said, eyes shining as she spoke to her best friend, “I’ll write a story that makes people feel less alone.”

  Her friend smiled, resting her chin on her hands. “You always say that.”

  “Because it’s true,” Thena replied with a quiet laugh. “I don’t care if it’s messy or sad. I just want it to be honest.”

  Back then, believing felt effortless. The dream of being a novelist lived in her voice—warm and certain—before the world taught her how easily dreams could fade.

  A dream… or was this the moment they spoke of—the quiet where life unraveled itself, memory by memory, before disappearing?

  That was the last thing she remembered thinking.

  After that, time lost its shape. Thought came apart, stretched thin, until even memory loosened its grip.

  For the first time in a long while, she did not feel the need to struggle or hold on. The world had gone still, and in that stillness, she rested.

  If this is a dream… she thought distantly, then I don’t want to wake up yet.

  Thena woke with a start, her chest heaving as if she had been running through water.

  “Just… a dream,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her forehead.

  The memory of her younger self, talking about stories with her friend, lingered—soft, distant, almost comforting.

  But the air smelled different—fresh and earthy, with the faint scent of wildflowers and moss. The ground beneath her was cool and damp.

  She blinked, trying to focus, and realized she was lying beside a river.

  The water shimmered, catching the light in a way that seemed almost unreal, and soft ripples whispered against the bank.

  “Where… am I?” she murmured, her voice barely louder than the breeze through the trees.

  She stared at the unfamiliar forest.

  “This doesn’t look like hell.”

  Pain throbbed behind her eyes, sharp and insistent.

  Slowly, she sat up, brushing moss from her hands. Towering trees surrounded her, their leaves glowing faintly, reflecting in the river’s surface like scattered jewels. Sunlight filtered through the branches in golden slivers, dancing across the water.

  It was beautiful—but wrong.

  “This… isn’t real. It has to be a dream,” she muttered, hugging her knees.

  And then it came back—the wind whipping her hair, the cliff’s edge beneath her feet, the dark, endless sea.

  Her stomach lurched, her heart thudding painfully in her chest.

  “No… I didn’t—”

  She pressed her palms into the riverbank, grounding herself, and the truth hit her like icy water.

  She had jumped.

  The river gurgled softly beside her, calm and endless.

  “Where… am I?” Thena whispered again.

  She stood by the river for several minutes, slowly taking in her surroundings as she tried to gather her scattered thoughts. The forest stretched endlessly around her, unfamiliar and unnervingly quiet.

  She lifted a hand and slapped her own cheek.

  The sharp sting made her hiss—but it was enough. Pain bloomed across her skin, real and undeniable.

  “So this isn’t a dream,” she murmured.

  Her gaze drifted to a faint glow weaving through the trees. It pulsed softly, almost inviting, as if waiting for her to notice it.

  She watched it for a long moment before finally taking a cautious step forward.

  Thena followed the glowing path deeper into the forest.

  The trees grew denser, the light dimmer, until a shape emerged in the distance—a building, barely visible through the mist.

  As she drew closer, she realized it was a house-like structure, old and isolated, standing alone as if forgotten by time.

  Her heart tightened.

  “I’ll never know if I don’t look,” she whispered.

  She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  Dust coated every surface, and thick spider webs clung to the corners of the room. Each step stirred the air, sending fine particles drifting upward, glowing faintly in the dim light.

  The silence inside felt heavier than the forest outside.

  As her eyes adjusted, rows of towering shelves came into view.

  “…A library?”