Three years.
It took me three years of research, planning, outlining and organizing. Three years of writing and rewriting. Thousands of words on hundreds of documents.
The result wasn’t a masterpiece, but it was a decent enough novel. It had a few good twists, a truly vile villain, a hero with a tragic backstory, and a magic system more detailed than the Silmarillion.
It was something I was proud of.
Looking back, maybe the detail is where I went overboard. Maybe if I hadn’t made the world so real this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe if I hadn’t explained every spell and exactly what was possible I could have avoided this.
I got so sucked into the world I’d created. I made a wish. I cast one of my own spells.
I never expected it to work.
Six months ago I landed here, in the world I’d created. I arrived on the date that the events in my book begin. I know that, because I knew all the dates.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
I avoided all my main characters. I went to a town I knew would be safe. I earned a living by practicing the magic I’d created. It’s been fine. It’s been fun. Truth be told, I’m happier here than I ever was in the real world.
There’s only one nagging doubt. One thing that’s been plaguing me for the past six months.
My story, the events I wrote about… It ends tonight.
In the capital city a young man is being tortured. A young woman is going to save him. The evil king will kill himself, and the king’s second daughter will take the throne. As the sun rises she’ll be crowned queen, and then…
What?
Will this world crumble? Will it fade into darkness? Will I die with it? Will I be sent back to Earth, back to Oklahoma?
Or will the sun keep rising until it’s fully day? Will my fox come scratching at the door, waiting for breakfast? Will the woman next door get to fix the leak in her roof? Will the wheat harvest be enough for the town to make it through winter?
I watched the sun set, letting my fox out through the kitchen window. The neighbor woman passed by, coming home from her job at the fish market.
She waved to me. “G’night! See you tomorrow!”
I waved back, trying to smile. “Here’s hoping…”