“Hey, why are you looking so down?” Itra asked, “Where has your usual energy gone?”

Itra peered at me through her mountain of study guides, as I pressed my forehead against the table. We promised to meet again today to continue revising the interaction between Octavia and Killean. She dropped in a few comments on the document which I kept my story on, but I could barely keep up with all the revisions she suggested.

“I just…don’t know if I can do this anymore,” I responded, “My head’s swirling.”

“Why’s it swirling?” Itra questioned, “Did you get stuck on something?”

“Everything,” I replied, “I don’t think I even know what I’m writing anymore. It’s like I’ve lost my way.”

“So you’re giving up?” Itra pressed herself forward, not liking what she’s hearing, “You don’t want to write this anymore?”

“Well, I want to, but I just can’t focus on the story.” I sighed, “Maybe I should just give up on this contest thing.”

After a bit of silence, with my head resting on my arms, I heard an intimidating, “Stand up,” come from behind me in a strict tone.

“Huh?” I looked over my shoulder to catch the sight of Itra with crossed arms, like a statue of a fearsome commander. When did she even get behind me?

She repeated, “Stand.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Why do I need to stand?”

“Just stand,” Itra instructed, her voice a rigid rock.

“A-alright,” I obliged, pushing my chair back and standing myself up.

“Close your eyes too,” Itra added, “don’t even think of running away.”

“Okay…wait, what? Why would I want to run?” I nearly turned to face her, but Itra grabbed hold of my shoulders.

“It’s just that this magic trick I’m about to use might frighten you at first,” Itra explained, “Are your eyes closed?”

“They are,” I answered, distracted by the sensation of Itra’s touch.

“Good, now try to imagine the room your characters are in,” Itra ordered, “try to maintain the image of it for as long as possible, make it real in your head.”

“Wha? But I can’t, it’s hard to focus on—ow!” As soon as I expressed my inability to do as Itra asked, she pressed her nails into my skin.

I broke from Itra’s grasp, but she reached out and grabbed me by the collar of my shirt instead. It pressed against my neck and the sudden feeling forced me to stop.

“What was that for!” I exclaimed, Itra’s pinch still pulsed with pain.

“That’s my magic trick,” Itra elaborated, “pain therapy.”

“What kind of torture have you been planning!?” I shrieked, but immediately turned my voice down remembering the library rules, “It hurts!”

“It’s to discourage your self-doubting thoughts,” Itra answered, “I want you to only focus on your writing, not entertaining your hesitant thoughts.”

“But…”

Before I could finish my sentence, Itra flashed an ice-cold glare in my direction. I gulped at the intensity, fierce winds forcing my sails to do as she willed, wanting to leave the library which she blocked the exit to.

Tensed up, I waddled right back into her grasp. She had an evil plan to get me to write, but I decided to go along with it. All she wanted to do was help, anyways.

“All right, where do I begin?” I asked her.