bright lights, and the second thing I notice is the

shock as I recognized the person sitt

irk on his lips, and if I didn't know better

you real? I asked in a frustrated and completely baffled to

his impossible reality. "The Inkwell." He says simply, nodding to

some bizarre dream. "The inkwell?" I echo,

in that quaint little shop. It's no ordinary object, Emma. It carries power, ancient and

pkeeper had warned me about, is responsible for this? "But that doesn't make any sense," I whi

the chair, his dark ey

to the desires, the intentions of its owne

as sitting at my desk, pouring my soul into a story t

ed, as if the story had been waiting for m

y eyes shut and shaking my head. This is just

there, a small, amused smile playing on his

walls to start melting or something equally drea

rewolf sitting beside my bed. What....am I suppos

you want, Emma. You brought me here, and now our fates are intertwined. You cou

r down my spine. Write

er now? The thought is both

t," I admitted, pulling the b

s. I just wanted to write..

hy in his eyes. I understand. You were searching for something, and t

ips a beat.

table. It's tied to your emotions, your deepest desires. You may think

an respond, the lights in the room flicker-once, twic

for the lamp on my bedside table. My fingers final

darkness, but there's an edge to it now, some

ough the room-like the rustling of paper mixed with a low, ominous hum.

ll. The room fills with an unnatural energy, thick and heavy, making it hard to breathe. Then, out of nowhere, a gust of wind whips through the room, strong enough to knock over the

f a truck, knocking the breath from my lungs. I'm thrown to the ground, the world spinning around me, as darkness sw