Arturo walked through the endless streets, his mind racing. Every step brought him closer to his destination, but also plunged him into a sea of doubt. The streets of Magallón stretched out before him, one after another, curves and straight lines that seemed to have no end. It was a small town, but in his mind, each street multiplied as if he were trapped in a labyrinth of uncertainty.
What would he say to her?
At first, the idea of going to Magallón had seemed simple. He just had to find Ana Soler and ask her more about the idea he had sent to the magazine. But as he walked through the streets of this town, Arturo began to feel that there was something bigger at play, something he couldn't quite understand. Maybe it was the weight of the story that was beginning to take shape in his mind, or maybe the feeling of searching for answers he wasn't sure he wanted to find.
Arturo arrived at his address expecting to see a row of old houses, similar to those he had seen in other parts of the town. However, as he turned the corner, he came across something completely different.
Instead of traditional houses, he found himself facing a large lot and a solitary building in the center. The building, although clearly old, had a neat and welcoming appearance. A sign in the front yard announced "Residencia de Ancianos."
Arturo stood for a moment looking at the residence. It was not what he expected, but Mauricio had been clear with the address.
Somewhat disconcerted by the location of his search, he tried to maintain his composure.
"Hello, my name is Arturo. I'm looking for Ana Soler and, as I was told, she has lived at this address for many years," he explained to the woman at the counter, showing his note with the address.
The receptionist looked at him for a second, as if she were evaluating how serious Arturo was.
"Ana is in the common room. She is one of our residents. You can come in, but, if you don't mind, I would like to know what relationship you have with her."
Arturo hesitated for a moment. He didn't intend to talk too much about the exact reason for his visit, as he still didn't understand how it all connected.
"I'm a writer."
The receptionist looked at him with a raised eyebrow and, finally with a slight smile, nodded, quickly understanding.
"Let me see if she's available for visitors."
The young man waited nervously in the lobby, watching the residents passing by, some strolling slowly, others chatting happily in small groups.
A short while later, the woman returned with a smile.
"Mrs. Soler will receive you in her room. Please follow me."
When he reached the room, he saw a woman with gray hair tied back in a simple bun, sitting by a window. Her eyes, although somewhat dulled by age, still had the same spark that Arturo had imagined in his mind when he thought of the person behind A. Soler.
"Mrs. Soler?" Arturo asked in a soft voice, trying not to startle her.
She looked up, surprised. And when her eyes met Arturo's, her expression changed to a mix of curiosity and something more... perhaps amusement. After a few seconds, a slight smile appeared on her lips.
"Who are you, young man?" she asked, as if she were testing whether her memory, despite the years, could still recognize the faces of her past.
He took a deep breath and began to explain.
"My name is Arturo Duarte and I am a writer for the magazine Paper & Pen. I have been absorbed in the search for the person behind the idea for my novel and, after following the trail of several traces he left, I have arrived here. I knew it was you, madam. I am very grateful that you received me.
Ana looked at him without further ado. She did not respond immediately, and for a moment, it seemed as if she were evaluating whether it was worth revealing what Arturo was implying.
Finally, she took a deep breath and nodded slowly.
"Well", she said, "her tone softening.It was one of the reasons why I used the pseudonym: to keep my life a secret, to hide from my own desires. But no, it is not something I regret... anyway, how could you have known? What story are you talking about, young man?"
Arturo, unable to contain himself, almost interrupted her, already understanding what had happened.
"A. Soler. The reader of the magazine "Paper & Pen" "he said quickly, as if everything made sense now. "I got here because... because I felt that I couldn't keep writing without understanding everything. I needed to understand where that idea came from".
Ana blinked, surprised. Her expression alternated between disbelief and shy pride. Arturo let the silence fill the space, giving her time to process what she had just heard. Finally, Ana took a deep breath and spoke.
"A novel?" she asked, as if the word was foreign to her. "And you want my help?"
"Exactly" answered Arturo, nodding with a slight smile. "And I already have the draft of the first chapters... Your idea inspired me so much that I couldn't help but develop it further, give it life. But it would be an honor if we shared the credit. After all, without you, that story wouldn't exist".
Ana looked down at her hands, which rested in her lap. Her fingers trembled slightly as they fiddled with the hem of her jacket.
She was clearly processing the magnitude of what Arturo was offering her.
A few long seconds passed before she spoke again.
"I don't know if I'm the right person for this," she said, her voice tinged with doubt. "I've spent my entire life hiding behind a pseudonym, letting my ideas float in anonymity. To think that my name could appear in a book..." Ana paused, fighting the emotions that were playing on her face. "I don't know if I'm ready for something like that."
Arturo tilted his head in confusion. Ana deserved that recognition.
"I understand what you feel," he said carefully. "But believe me, this isn't just about a book. It's a chance for your voice, the one that's been silent for so long, to be heard." Your idea touched someone at a publishing house, and that same idea touched me," she said, taking her laptop out of her backpack. "I think there's something in this story that needs to be told, and you deserve to be a part of it. There's nothing wrong with letting the world know who you really are."
Ana remained silent for a moment longer, looking out the window as if searching for an answer in the sky. Then her eyes met Arturo's again, and then at something sticking out of her backpack.
The Butterfly by Emilia Castellón.
It was an old book, with a worn cover and bent corners. She reached out a hand without permission and pulled it out, studying the cover with a look of disbelief.
"Where did you get this?" she asked, holding it as if it were a treasure.
Arturo was surprised by her reaction. "At the flea market. Why?"
The old woman smiled for the first time since they had started talking. "This book was written by my mother," she explained, her voice tinged with an emotion she tried to hide. "When I was a child, I read it so many times that the pages fell apart. It was her only published work, but it was enough to make me want to be like her." Then Ana looked at Arturo intently. "My mother always said that stories find the people who need them." With that, she handed back the old book Arturo had bought. "I always dreamed of being a writer, you know? But life had other plans for me. In my time, women weren't looked upon favorably if we had aspirations beyond our responsibilities. My husband, for example, thought it was more important for me to stay home, taking care of the children. And what could I do?"
"So, that's why you used a pseudonym?"
Ana nodded, without hesitation. —Yes, although at first it was out of fear. Fear of being rejected, of being ignored. But, over time, it became a necessity. A refuge where my words could exist without anyone judging them. —She paused, her gaze becoming more intense. —Okay, Arturo. If you really think this story deserves to be told then, I will. I accept. What do we have so far?
Arturo quickly turned on his laptop and showed her what he had written.
"It's very rare to find someone so interested in my ideas... You see, Arturo, my mother's writing process was... how to put it? Quite ambiguous" she said, tilting her head with a smile that was a mixture of apology and amusement. "We've never been the kind to sit down with a perfectly detailed outline or a well-defined beginning and end. For us, writing is more like..."
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Arturo raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Like what? What do you mean?" he asked, trying to figure out what he meant.
"Tell me, Arturo," the lady began with a smile. "Have you ever tried writing fantasy stories?"
Arthur nodded, intrigued by the question. "Yes, I did."
Ana nodded slowly. "Writing fantasy stories is an art in itself, and it's much harder than most people think. I know that for many this genre can seem like an escape, a place where anything is possible and rules are broken at will. But, in reality, creating a good fantasy story requires a very delicate balance."
Arturo tilted his head, interested. "Balance? What do you mean?"
"Fantasy, more than any other genre, needs to have one foot firmly planted in reality. Think about it: you're asking readers to step into a whole new world, to believe in the impossible, whether it's dragons or deities fighting for the sky." But if that world doesn't have its own rules, its own foundations that make it believable, the reader doesn't stay. They just don't buy it.
Arturo nodded slowly, knowing exactly what she meant. "So how do you make something fantastic feel... real?"
Ana smiled with a hint of satisfaction, as if she had expected that question. "First, human emotions," she said, raising a finger. "No matter how extraordinary your world is, if the characters don't feel something that connects with the reader, the story will be flat. Sadness, joy, fear, love... all of that is universal. Even if your protagonist is a magical being, their emotions must be human."
"Makes sense," Arturo murmured, making mental notes.
"Second," Anna continued, "consistency. Once you introduce the rules of your world, you have to stick to them. If you say that Nocturnes don't come out in sunlight, you can't have one of them come out in the daytime without a logical explanation. Otherwise, the reader feels betrayed, and the fantasy is broken."
"And creativity?" Arthur asked, leaning back in his chair. "I've always thought that fantasy is about inventing new things, about surprising."
Ana nodded, but held up a warning finger. "Of course, but creativity alone isn't enough. If you fill your story with strange creatures and impossible events just for the sake of surprising, you risk overwhelming the reader. Magic must be something special, something that shocks. And often, less is more. A single, well-developed magical idea can be more powerful than a million extravagant details." Arturo paused thoughtfully. He had witnessed his own tendency to overload his stories with ideas that, in the end, ended up overshadowing each other.
"So... magic should be limited?"
"Exactly. Magic is like a good seasoning: it should be used sparingly. If you use it too much, it loses its effect. And, more importantly, it should always come at a cost. Nothing in real life comes without effort or sacrifice, so why should it be any different in fantasy?"
Arturo let out a sigh, his face slightly exhausted.
"I'd never thought of it that way. I always believed fantasy was a way to escape rules, not create them."
"And it is, in a sense. But the best fantasies don't take you to a place where everything is chaotic and meaningless. They take you to a new world, yes, but a world that feels so real you can almost touch it. It's a complicated art, Arturo, but it's also beautiful." When I start to feel like I'm not inventing, but remembering... That place already exists, and I'm just visiting it. That's when I know the scene is ready to be written. Same with characters." He paused, looking at Arturo intently. "Have you ever tried sitting down and having a conversation with your own characters?"
Arturo frowned. "Talk to them?" he said, laughing a little. "Like they are real?"
"Yes. Think about it, Arturo: if you can't talk to them, if you can't hear their voices in your head, how are you going to convince a reader that they exist? When I have trouble understanding a character, I visualize them sitting in front of me. I ask them questions: What do you want? What are you afraid of? Why did you do that?"
"And what happens if they don't respond?"
"Oh, some are more stubborn than others, that's for sure —she answered smiling—. But that's where the environment comes in. If the character doesn't speak, I take him into his world. I put him in a scene that is meaningful to him and I observe him. Maybe he stays quiet, but his actions say a lot. What does he do first? Does he run away, does he scream, does he sit in silence?
"I've never thought about writing this way. I've always focused on the words, on structuring the sentences perfectly".
"It's just that the words, Arturo, are just the skin of the story. If you don't have a soul underneath, it doesn't matter how beautiful the sentences are" Ana Soler stressed. "So I propose something to you: the next time you feel blocked, don't force yourself to write. Close your eyes, look at the world you're creating and stay there for a while. Let him tell you his story". she paused. "Come on, close your eyes".
"What do you say?"
"You came here for my help, you say? I want you to close your eyes, take a deep breath, and relax. It's going to be a long journey to the world of Enchantia".
Arturo didn't know if it was the desperation he had to write his novel or it was the quiet atmosphere of the room along with Ana's soft voice, which created the perfect environment for his mind to start wandering.
"Imagine the Luminous Castle" he said while carefully observing the sketch of the world map sketched by Arturo. "Your silhouette is small compared to the grandeur of the castle. Feel the history in every stone, this castle is not only a fortress, but a beacon of hope for all the inhabitants of Enchantia. Do you see it?" Ana was guiding him with her voice, slow and calm.
Arturo nodded slightly, his closed eyelids almost trembling as his mind began to build the landscape.
Slowly, an image began to form in his mind. He saw an imposing white castle, standing on a hill, with towers rising majestically towards the sky.
It had a shining dome, formed from an unknown material that reflected both the golden light of the sun and the soft silver light of the moon. The dome emitted sparkles that illuminated everything around it.
The castle not only rose towards the sky, but also sank into the earth. The roots of the construction seemed to be connected to the very essence of the planet, as if the Luminous Castle were a bridge between heaven and earth, between past and future. Arthur could see how the corridors branched out into the depths of the earth, as if the castle itself was anchored to the essence of Enchantia, absorbing its secrets and keeping them within.
The doors of the castle were immense, each one decorated with a complex mesh of intricate reliefs that seemed to change their shape when the light glided over them. At one of the doors, Arthur saw a figure, a winged woman, the figure seemed to be staring at him, as if sizing him up, as if the castle itself was testing him before allowing him to enter.
"Describe the interior of the castle, Arturo. What do you see when you walk through its doors?"
"Upon entering, I find a grand hall lit by enormous stained glass windows that cast a rainbow of colors on the marble floor. The walls are adorned with tapestries that tell stories of ancient battles and times of peace. In the center of the hall, a golden staircase rises to the upper floors, where the castle's most sacred chambers are said to be," Arthur said, visualizing every detail clearly.
"And who are there? Who are the kings who inhabit this place?" Anne asked, encouraging him to delve deeper into the dynamics.
"I see two figures," she began, her voice shaking. "They are sitting on thrones that seem to be made of crystal and flames."
"Describe each one," Anne asked, leaning slightly toward him, her voice heavy with interest.
"The man has hair that seems to be composed of threads of golden light," Arthur continued, his eyebrows furrowed as he searched for the right words. His face is serene, but there is something unsettling in his eyes. I see him looking out at the horizon, but never directly at the people around him.
"And the other one?" Ana asked softly, not interrupting his stream of thoughts.
"The woman..." Arturo hesitated. "Her presence is heavier. She wears a dark cloak, like the fabric of the night sky, flecked with stars. But she doesn't look threatening. She is... melancholy."
Ana was silent for a moment before taking a step toward him.
"What are they doing? How do they interact with each other?"
"They are arguing," she finally said, her voice deepening. "Not with words, but with gestures, with glances. It is as if neither of them can decide the fate of this place. The king wants to move forward, to illuminate everything with his light, but the queen insists on staying calm, on preserving the stillness.
Ana tilted her head, thoughtful. "And you? Where are you in this scene?"
Arturo frowned. The image of himself began to appear in the room of his mind, an observer between two opposing forces.
"I am in the center, right between them," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "They both look at me, as if waiting for me to decide something. But I don't know what. It's a responsibility I don't fully understand."
"Ask them, then," she said quietly. "Talk to them."
Arturo opened his eyes in his mind, turning to the queen first.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, her tone firmer than he expected.
"I want you to walk in the light," she replied. "To trust that every step you take can light your path and that of others."
Arturo nodded, then turned to the king.
"And you? What do you ask of me?"
"I want you to remember that darkness is not always the enemy. It is where dreams are born and fears are confronted. Without it, light would have no meaning."
Arturo stood still, caught between those two truths. Then, he opened his eyes and looked back at Ana, who watched him with a mix of serenity and expectation.
"Who are you going to choose?" Ana asked, genuinely curious.
"I don't want to be either of them," Arthur replied, feeling a strange certainty in his words. "I don't want to be just Solaris, or just Nocturnia. What if I am both?" Or maybe, none...
Ana watched him in silence. The question he had asked seemed to have touched something beyond logic, as if it were touching the soul of this world, this place he was linked to but couldn't decide if he wanted to be a part of.
Finally, Ana smiled with understanding.
"So, you are a Twilight," she said softly, her voice like a confirmation that echoed in Arthur's mind.
Arturo opened his eyes slowly, looking at Ana, still in her state of visualization.
"A Twilight?" he repeated, as if testing the word in his mouth, trying to understand its meaning.
Ana nodded slowly. "Twilights don't belong to either world, but they dream of both. They are the ones who live on the border, around the Luminous Castle in the ruins of Lyra, the city that once united Solaris and Nocturnia. Twilights see the shadows of the past and the lights of the future, and what they desire is something more. They want to unite those two worlds. But the fight will not be easy. The Separatist Kings of Solaris and Nocturnia will not allow that to happen.
Images of Lyra began to materialize in Arthur's mind. He saw a once-grand city, with architecture that fused the best of both worlds: towers of glass and metal under the sun of Solaris, and bridges of shadow and stone connecting the darkness of Nocturnia. But now, it lay in ruins, its buildings collapsed, and its inhabitants scattered, survivors living in the shadows of what once was.
"The Twilights, then..." Arthur said, slowly understanding. "They are the ones who will not settle for division. They are the ones who fight to bring back what was lost. They want to restore Lyra, not just as a city, but as a symbol of the union between the two worlds."
Ana nodded.
"But they don't want to destroy, Arturo. They want to heal what is broken, to unite what is separated. The true revolution begins within each of them, in the acceptance that there is not only light nor only darkness. Only when they understand this will they be able to restore what was lost."
When he finally opened his eyes, he saw Ana Soler looking at him with a serene expression, as if she already knew everything he had just understood.
"It was... incredible," he replied, still assimilating the experience. "I felt like I was really there, in Enchantia. I could see, hear and feel everything."
She nodded, her smile widening. "That's the power of visualization. Don't forget that feeling, Arturo. Take it with you every time you write. Enchantia is as real as you allow it to be."