“Think! Think! How will you save her?”

The voice in my head screamed relentlessly. “Hurry! You don’t have time! She’ll disappear forever! Think!”

The words echoed in my mind like thunder, merciless and deafening. My head felt as though it was about to explode. I cried out to myself, “What is this? What’s happening?”

In a moment of desperation, I grabbed the book in front of me and slammed it against my face, as if physical pain could somehow restore my focus. “Think! Just think!” I repeated the words like a madman, as though they were a spell that could pull me out of this nightmare.

“He said it’s my fault... you idiot!” I shouted hoarsely. “I can’t do this! I can’t!”

The day passed like a lightning bolt, striking me over and over without mercy. My head was filled with clashing voices, a symphony of torment. Torn pages and failed attempts to rewrite the story were scattered across the room. Pens lay abandoned everywhere, filled with ink yet refusing to write a single word.

I stared at one of the pens, and it looked as if it was bleeding. The ink seemed like silent, weeping blood, lifeless. It was as if the ink itself refused to witness what had happened, rejecting the reality unfolding before it.

I sat with my heavy head resting on the desk where I used to write, drowning in silence mixed with quiet sobs. The words in my head felt like daggers piercing my skull, like a cancer spreading mercilessly or a bomb exploding inside me, each time more powerful than the last.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“How? How?” I kept repeating to myself, unable to find an answer. I glanced at my phone, its screen lighting up with countless missed calls from my friends, their attempts to reach me relentless. But I... I couldn’t speak.

She was the one I could talk to endlessly, like a child chattering without pause, laughing, sharing my stories. She was the light in my darkness. You might say, dear reader, that I’m exaggerating, but you don’t know the cracks tearing through my mind right now. You can’t feel the fractures breaking me from within, as if they’re destroying everything in their path.

Suddenly, one of my friends entered without warning, his face a mixture of fear and concern. He looked at me like I was a ghost of myself.

“What is this? You’re dead, and only your body remains standing!” he said firmly, trying to grasp what was happening.

I couldn’t keep it inside any longer. I told him everything, laid bare the chaos within me. The words tumbled out, heavy and trembling, accompanied by tears I couldn’t control. My heart was breaking, and my mind was sinking into a storm of confusion.

“What is this? I can’t take it anymore!” I cried, my voice fractured with despair.

He looked at me with shock and sorrow in his eyes and said,

“This isn’t you. This isn’t the person I know. You’re the one who used to create, discover, write the most amazing stories, and craft the finest tales.”

But his words, no matter how true, felt distant—like they were meant for someone else, someone I no longer recognized.

But… what is this? Who are you? You’re not my friend! How did you get here? How did you open the door? How did you come in?

He looked at me with a gentle smile, then let out a soft chuckle and said:

“Didn’t I tell you that you’re a creator? You can’t sit here like this. The secret lies within you. The door to the path is also within you. You know the door, and you know the way in and out.”

Before I could make sense of his words, he placed his hands on my shoulders, looked straight into my eyes, and said:

“Go in. But try not to become a prisoner of what’s inside.”

And just like that, he vanished.

“What is this?” I murmured to myself, stunned. “Was that… my mind?”

Suddenly, I froze, as if a distant whisper reached my ears. It was her voice… Eilaf’s voice.

“I came from your mind.”

The words echoed in my head. “What?”

I repeated softly, almost trembling:

“My mind… I’m a prisoner in my own mind.”