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I stood in the middle of a large, circular office. Or maybe it was some kind of arcane library with the checkout counter improperly placed at the far end? Its curved wall held row after row of books and scrolls over every inch. The floor was a single expanse of polished black marble, flecked with gold and gray, and a magic circle inscribed with gold runes at the exact center. I turned my attention to the desk; it was huge and littered with stacks of papers just waiting to spill over into chaos. Then my gaze locked on who was sitting at the desk– the source of all things wrong in the world.

He appeared to be absorbed in a scroll, which he held open before himself, but his eyes were closed. A few strands of long, silvery purple hair fell past his brow in slight disarray, just begging to be fixed. The gold tips of his horns sparkled as they caught the surrounding violet torchlight. He suddenly flinched, turned his face towards me, and dropped the scroll with a clatter. His faintly reptilian irises flashed into view for a brief moment before he regained his composure.

“You’re not supposed to be here, you know.” Demon Lord Olethros, or now Demon King Olethros, I presumed, picked up the scroll he had dropped and rolled it up.

“How could you do that to her?!” I demanded with a screech, advancing on him and his desk.

“Ah… you’ll need to be more specific if you want an actual answer.” He smoothly brushed the stray hair from his face and tucked it carefully behind his right horn.

“Raelynn Lightbringer, Knight Captain of the Holy Order of Gold, Chosen One of the–”

“The name is sufficient. Multiple titles are tedious,” he sighed. “Now, just what do you mean by that?”

“You killed her! Murderer! You sent her straight to the next world!” I really should have brought my bat.

He tilted his head. “The next world?”

“That’s what it says in the web novel, right here!” I shoved my phone at him.

He frowned thoughtfully at the screen but made no motion to take it from me. “Are the spiders… inside that box?”

“Spiders? What spiders?!” The terrible thought jarred me, and I almost dropped the phone. I can’t stand spiders! They’re born of nightmares, you know.

“Surely there would be spiders to maintain this web of which you speak?”

“It’s not that kind of web!”

He looked slightly disappointed with the answer. “Oh. But it’s a novel?”

“Huh?”

“Novel,” he repeated the word patiently. “Is a web novel a type of novel? Novel being derived from the word novella and not to be confused with novel, as in, new.”

“Uh, well, yes… novella, novel, book, whatever!” He was being intentionally tiresome. “But I don’t see what that has to do with our conversation!”

“Just a moment.” He stood up and floated over to one of the many bookshelves behind him. He summoned a sizeable green book down from the shelves and quickly turned to a specific page as if he knew exactly where to look.

“Novel. Noun. A fictitious prose narrative longer than a short story, which depicts one or more characters engaging in actions to tell a series of related events.” He snapped the book shut and raised an eyebrow at me as if to ask, are we on the same page now?

I hesitated. “You’re a character in it, too, but you don’t look fictitious to me! See, it’s right here!” I thrust the phone at him a second time. “It even says what you’re doing, spelling it out in black and white to the reader! Evidence!”

He took the phone from me, glanced at it disinterestedly, and said, “There are only a few words here, and none have anything to do with what you’re talking about.”

I yanked the phone out of his hand ungraciously. “You need to scroll down. Like this.” I pulled my finger up and down the side of the phone’s screen to demonstrate. “Understand?”

“Paperless scrolling. How convenient.” He held out his hand, and I slammed the phone back into his grasp, being sure to step back before he could grab me. Unconcerned, he sat back at his desk and tilted the phone this way and that while scrolling.

“Who writes prose like this?” He swiped faster and faster until he hit the bottom. At first, I thought he was just pretending to read, but I noticed his gracefully curved eyelashes twitching. How could he read with his eyes closed like that?

“Ah, the author’s on hiatus. Hopefully, it’s for a literary sabbatical.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“Well?!” I wasn’t in the mood for his unnecessarily critical observations.

“Well, what?”

“Did you murder Raelynn Lightbringer?”

“Of course not.” He shrugged and offered my phone back to me, which I took cautiously, then reestablished my distance. I stood there, dumbfounded. He wasn’t a liar. Don’t get me wrong; he wasn’t someone you trusted. He just had his overblown sense of pride and drew the line at bold-faced lying. He preferred using subtler ways of delivering misinformation. Would that mean that Raelynn is actually alive, then? In the next world? Where was that, exactly? I was about to hit him with a barrage of follow-up questions, but he preempted me.

“It’s very apparent that you’re quite upset over this story, but… I’m not sure you understand what’s going on here.” He gestured vaguely to the office surrounding us.

“I’m here to get justice for Raelynn! That’s what’s going on!” I put my hands on my hips defiantly. Murder or worldly banishment—they’re both at least felonies, right? Is worldly banishment even a thing? I supposed there might not be a precedent.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“How did you get here?”

Wait, how did I get here? One moment, I’m in my warm blanket, and… now, things are getting a little harder to see. I touched my face. Maybe it’s because I didn’t bring my glasses?

“I want you to take a moment to look at yourself.”

“Self-reflection?” I wondered aloud. It was hard to keep a focus on what was going on.

He sighed again. “No, I meant it literally.” I glanced down at myself and gasped. Suddenly, I was completely transparent. I swiped, unsuccessfully, at a stack of papers on his desk. My hand went through the entire stack and out the other side. What happened to the phone in my hand? I remembered it seemed solid just moments ago, but now it was nowhere to be found! What in the world was going on?

“Now I’ll ask again, where do you think you are?”

“I’m dreaming… aren’t I? I was in my bed and…” I trailed off.

“And who do you think I am?”

“A… figment of my subconscious?” It was the best I could come up with.

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Oh. Oh dear.” How stupid could I be? I’m asleep in bed, and this is all a silly dream.

“You seem much calmer now,” he said approvingly as he relaxed back into his seat.

“Sorry… um… what should I call you?”

“Anything you want.” He shrugged.

“I’m still going to call you Olethros. I mean, you look exactly like him.” Or how I had imagined him, anyway. The author hadn’t included him in any cover art, so it wasn't easy to tell.

“Hmm, Olethros, meaning destruction and change? That is acceptable to me.” Is that what his name meant? “What should I call you?” His left eye opened slightly.

An idiot, really, but I didn’t say that. “Rachel.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Rachel. I’d shake your hand in customary greeting, but it seems that isn’t possible. Pity.”

“Um…”

He leaned forward and clasped his hands together, placing them on the desk. “I don’t believe this… ‘web novel’ was the only thing upsetting you. If I am a figment of your subconscious, as you say, then that would mean I’m a part of you, right?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Then it would be in my best interest to help you with what is causing you such distress, right? I mean, meeting like this is a little…”

“Weird?”

“Agreed. So tell me, what’s upsetting you so much that you’d come here like this?”

I renewed my focus and mulled his question, closing my eyes so I wouldn’t mentally wander because of the… scenery before me. It couldn’t hurt to speak my mind to my imaginary friend, er, enemy? Frenemy? No, those weren’t right, either. A figment of my subconscious it is, then.

I inhaled. “Everything… everything’s changing, and nothing’s the same anymore. I don’t know what I want to do next. Nothing feels right, and… the future frightens me.”

“How so?”

“I’m... Okay, so there’s this essay I’m supposed to write. It’s about what I see myself doing in five years. I don’t even know what I want to eat for lunch tomorrow, and I’m being pressured to make all kinds of life choices. I wish someone would tell me who I’m supposed to be and what I’m supposed to do.”

“You want someone to tell you what you’re supposed to do?” He looked taken aback.

“I’m afraid I’ll get it all wrong and mess everything up,” I confessed.

“Oh, it’s because you’re growing up,” he concluded, almost to himself.

“What?”

“You’re finally able to make your own choices, and you’re realizing those choices have consequences. I’m told that’s all part of growing up. Feeling anxious about it is natural because you’ve never done it before.”

“Why me, though? Nora’s not upset. She’s excited. Right down to the day she retires, she has everything planned out.” Nora had even accounted for three different projected inflation rates in her life plan.

“Who’s Nora?”

“My best friend.”

“Ah… she’s not from another web novel, is she?”

“No, she’s real, I swear!” This wasn’t the first time I said that particular line about her. Most people don’t believe my descriptions of Nora, but once you’ve met her face to face…

“Have you told Nora how you’re feeling?”

“No… not really. I don’t want her to think I’m…”

“Scared?”

“Yeah.” I’m supposed to be the tough one.

“Ms. Rachel. If Nora is your best friend, as you say, she probably already knows you’re struggling with this. You don’t have the right face to hide your feelings. I expect she is waiting for you to open up to her.”

“Maybe… She had offered to help with my essay. Maybe I can talk to her about my feelings then, you know, subtly.” So subtly, I don’t seem crazy. You know, like a normal person who doesn’t have dreams like this.

“You truly have no idea what you want to do?” His tone was faintly disbelieving.

“Not really.” Maybe I had some selfish motivations deep down, but nothing was bubbling to the surface.

“Well, is this essay somehow legally binding? Will your instructor hold you accountable in five years if you are not doing what you said you wanted to do?”

“No...”

“Then make it up. Lie. Write what you think they want to hear.”

“You mean fake it until I make it?”

“Exactly. The essay itself isn’t the problem, so why waste time on it? Meet the minimum requirements for completion and move on. You’re putting an extraordinary amount of energy into avoiding it, but that won’t amount to anything. You also realize, of course, that what you want to do in the future will always change depending on your present circumstances? Therefore, locking yourself into your life’s culminating purpose is futile.”

Everything he was saying sounded perfectly reasonable. I looked around for a chair to sit in, but it was apparent this was not a room meant for casual consultation. Even if there were another chair, I’d probably phase through it. “You’re right, of course…” I trailed off as things around me got cloudier. Was this office from the web novel, or did I make it up? I couldn’t recall such a place before. A familiar melody began to play, but I couldn’t pinpoint its source.

“Ms. Rachel.” I blinked and looked at him. Was I not paying attention? “I think our time is up, but before you go, I want to encourage you to forget about this web novel you’ve been reading. There’s a plethora of good literature out there with better stories to tell.”

“Okay.”

“You promise?” He cocked his head to the side questioningly.

“Yeah. After tomorrow, that is.”

“What’s tomorrow?”

“Mmm… I promised to talk about the last chapter with Nora. You know, closure and all.”

“I can respect closure. Okay then, you promise you’ll let this story go after midnight tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“You won’t go back and reread it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’ll finish your essay and move on with your life?”

“Mmhmm.” Everything was turning dark.

“Wonderful. Don’t forget your promise to me.” I couldn’t reply, because the next moment I awoke to the sound of my phone ringing.

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