Chapter 4 – The Wish
I have only ever wished for one thing in my life, and it never came true.
Every prayer I whispered into the hollow of night, every word I scribbled in my diary, every star I begged to hear me—it was always the same request: to escape. To live inside my own story, the one I created with my own hands. To be free from the dull weight of this world. But morning after morning, I woke up to the same ceiling, the same air, the same silence that mocked me.
And yet, here I was, standing in front of this strange, ancient well, my heart thudding as though it had been waiting for this moment all my life. What difference would it make if I tried again?
"Call me delusional," I whispered to no one, "but I still believe in miracles."
Maybe that was my curse—I never gave up on the impossible.
I dug into my bag, fingers brushing past pens, crumpled papers, and half-read notes until I found a few loose coins. They were warm from being buried under the clutter, and as I gathered them in my palm, my throat went dry. I felt ridiculous. My rational mind screamed at me that this was a waste of time, but something deeper—something I couldn't name—urged me forward.
I closed my eyes. My lips trembled as I whispered my wish.
Please. Let me enter the world of my stories. Let me live where I belong.
The coins slipped through my fingers and clinked as they fell into the darkness below. The sound echoed longer than it should have, as if the well stretched endlessly down, swallowing every shred of hope I had left.
I laughed bitterly, the sound breaking in my throat.
"What am I even doing? I'm such a hypocrite."
Only minutes ago, I had scolded that boy for tossing away money, and here I was, doing the exact same thing. I pressed my palm against my face, shaking my head. Maybe I really was losing it.
"Whatever," I muttered, turning to grab my notebook from where I had rested it on the well's rail.
But the moment my fingers brushed the edge, the book slipped.
"No—!"
Time slowed as I lunged forward, but it was too late. My book tumbled down, vanishing into the same darkness that had devoured my coins.
I froze, my breath locked in my chest.
No sound. No splash. No thud. Nothing.
Books don't just… vanish. Paper might float, pages might tear, but they don't disappear as though they never existed. My heart raced as I leaned over the rail, peering into the shadows below.
The well was silent. Too silent.
It didn't make sense. My coins could sink. Fine. But my book? My masterpiece? Two years of words and half-finished worlds—gone without a trace?
My hands trembled on the rail. A hollow pit opened in my chest, swallowing my breath. Anger bubbled in my throat, sharp and bitter.
"Are you kidding me?" I shouted into the darkness, my voice echoing back at me, cruel and distorted.
A gust of wind answered. Cold, sharp, and unnatural.
I staggered back, my hair whipping across my face as the sky growled above. Heavy clouds rolled over, thick and bruised with an incoming storm. The garden around me groaned as trees bent, their branches clawing the air.
"Shit," I muttered, realizing what was about to happen.
The first drops of rain stung my skin. Within seconds, the drizzle became a torrent. Sheets of water blurred my vision, drenching me to the bone. The wind howled like a beast unchained, pulling at my clothes, my hair, dragging me toward the well as though it wanted me inside.
Panic clawed its way up my throat. I stumbled back, clutching my bag tightly against me. My book was gone. My only escape, swallowed by that cursed well. And now the storm was coming for me.
I had to get home. Now.
My shoes slipped against the soaked path as I turned and ran. The rain hammered down, cold needles piercing my skin. Lightning cracked across the sky, so close it lit the entire garden in white for a heartbeat. Thunder followed, deep and violent, shaking the ground beneath me.
Each breath burned as I sprinted, but the storm only grew worse. The wind roared in my ears, carrying whispers I swore weren't mine. Words—faint, broken, beckoning.
"… granted…
There was this foreign laughter too
I stumbled, nearly falling face-first into the mud. My heart lurched. I didn't dare look back, but the whispers grew louder, threading themselves between the thunder and rain.
"…the wish…"
"…your story…"
"No," I gasped, forcing my legs to move faster. My house wasn't far. Just a few more streets, a few more turns. If I could make it there, I'd be safe. I'd lock the doors, shut the curtains, and try to forget this ever happened.
But even as I ran, a sickening thought clung to me like the storm's chill.
My book hadn't fallen. It hadn't sunk.
It had been taken.
And whatever had claimed it wasn't done with me yet.