The explosion… an eruption that transcended the boundaries of reality and nightmare. A fountain of blood burst forth before my eyes, drenching the world in its crimson spray, as if born from the very womb of madness. I shut my eyes tightly, unable to withstand the horror, my mind teetering on the edge of oblivion. Then… the screams ceased. Silence fell.

I hesitantly opened my eyes, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, my gaze searching for truth within the suffocating haze. But what I saw was not the aftermath of the nightmare I had just witnessed. No, I was somewhere else. Bound.

My hands were tied to a chair. Before me, an ancient wooden table, worn by time, stood in eerie stillness. In my hand, a pen. And before me, a single sheet of paper. Not just any paper—no. It was the first page of my novel... the very beginning.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze, my breaths uneven. Across the table, he stood. That figure. That entity that had haunted my nightmares, lurked in the recesses of my mind, whispered from the shadows. But this time, he wasn’t just a faceless terror, wasn’t just a looming specter of dread.

This time… he removed his mask.

I was stunned by what I saw… How? How could this be real? How could this happen?! It was… me. A perfect reflection, my own face staring back at me from the other side of the table.

He stepped forward, his cursed laughter echoing in my ears—a ghost of myself standing right in front of me.

He sat down calmly, as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world. His eyes were cold, empty, devoid of any emotion. There was no trace of life within them. A faint smirk played on his lips, one filled with cruel mockery. In his hand, he held a glass of milk, sipping it without a care, as if this moment meant nothing to him.

In a low, unsettling voice, he spoke:

“Do you see this darkness around you? You created it.”

I shouted at the top of my lungs:

“What do you want from me?! Haven’t you done enough?! Where is Eilaf, you basta—”

I couldn’t finish.

A sudden, thunderous slam on the table froze me in place. He struck it with both hands, shaking the entire room. The sharp, jarring sound crawled into my bones as if it had shattered something inside me. I couldn’t move. I just sat there, paralyzed, while he let out a slow, mocking chuckle.

Then, with that same twisted smirk, he said:

“You fool… if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even exist.”

He took another sip of milk, as if our conversation was nothing more than a mild amusement. Then, his voice dripped with venom:

“If it weren’t for that girl you keep writing about, you wouldn’t have spent your whole life drowning in loneliness and eternal darkness.”

And then—he laughed. No, it wasn’t laughter—it was madness. A sound that echoed through my worst nightmares.

“If it weren’t for your ‘brilliant’ novels, you wouldn’t be so utterly alone! So pessimistic! Ha! You never even tried to fix your life, never even tried to find an alternative to this so-called Eilaf! You… are a failure!”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

His laughter spiraled into pure insanity, and every word he spoke cut into me like a dagger.

“And this novel of yours? No one has ever read it except for you! Just a pathetic loser running from his isolation into fantasy! And now? Now you're trapped inside the very illusion you thought was paradise… Ha!”

"All this time… 'Eilaf, Eilaf, Eilaf'…! Where is Eilaf?!"

He stepped closer, lowering his head until his face was just inches from mine. His breath was like a whisper of poison as he sneered:

"If it weren’t for Eilaf… your life wouldn’t have been this happy, would it?"

Then, without warning, he grabbed my head, his fingers digging into my scalp, his grip crushing me like a vice. He yanked my head up, forcing me to look directly into his hollow, soulless eyes.

There was no mercy in them. No warmth. Only cold, endless darkness.

"I tried to wake you up to your reality… but you refused to see."

Then, without hesitation, he let go of me—violently. The force sent me staggering back, my breath ragged, my balance nearly lost. He stared at me with amusement, a worthless, pathetic being.

And then, in a voice that seemed to crawl from the depths of hell, he said:

"You didn’t even listen to your mother’s cries when she was in pain… She died wanting one last embrace from you… and you weren’t there, you miserable bastard… you weak, pathetic coward… You deserve everything that’s happening to you now!"

A chill unlike any I had ever known crept through my bones. I felt frozen from the inside out. My mind struggled to form words, but before I could even speak, his voice rang out again—this time, filled with madness:

"Now… either you pick up that pen… and erase everything you’ve written."

I held my breath. I couldn’t comprehend his words at first. But then, before I could react—

He reached into the air, his hand gripping onto something that wasn’t even there a moment ago.

And then…

Something heavy slammed onto the table before me.

The sickening thud. The wet, dripping sound. The stench of fresh blood filling the air.

My eyes widened in sheer horror.

A head… A human head.

But not just anyone’s head.

It was Eilaf.

I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

She was still alive.

Her eyes stared at me, filled with unshed tears… and blood. Her ears, her nose, her lips—everything was bleeding. Yet, despite the agony in her gaze, her lips trembled as she whispered in a voice so faint, I barely heard it:

"Save me…"

My entire being shattered, but before I could move, the other me spoke again, his laughter twisting into something monstrous:

"Either you pick up the pen… and erase everything you wrote…"

I turned to look at him, my heartbeat hammering in my chest.

And then, with a voice steeped in cruelty, he added:

"Or you'll watch her head explode right in front of you… and you won’t be able to save her. You will witness her suffering… forever."