A gust of wind rattled the window shutters, and the candle flame guttered, painting the room in shuddering shadows. Then. . .
"Leaving so soon, my dearest character ?"
The voice was like smoke, there, then gone.
Peizhi whirled, her pulse jagged.
He lounged against the bedpost, a figure woven from ink and moonlight. Mr. Novel, the ethereal scribe of this damned story smirked at her, his robes shimmering with constellations that shifted like living things.
"You". She hissed. "I told you to stop appearing like some nosy ghost!"
He tsked, floating closer. "And let you derail the plot I worked so hard to create ? Tsk. Heroines who abandon their roles end up erased , Peizhi."
His finger tapped her forehead, icy as winter. "Stray too far, and you'll never return to your real world."
