The storm raged outside, relentless rain and wind battering the city as if intent on uprooting it. Yet, inside my apartment, everything felt strangely suspended.
It was nearly three in the morning, a time when even demons slept. But not me. Sitting at my desk, lamplight spilling softly over my diary, I scribbled secrets I'd never dare to speak aloud.
"He comes to me in dreams, with eyes like a storm, fingers scarred from past battles, and a soul tainted by impossible promises. He's not real. But if he were… he'd belong to me. And I'd belong to him, even if it meant losing myself."
Turning the page, I shivered, not from the cold but from anticipation. My pen moved almost on its own, guided by desires that made little sense. Writing him had become addictive. Although he had no face, no name… until I imagined him. With pain etched in his gaze, fury in his mouth, and my name burning on his tongue.
"You alone will be mine, Emma. Neither time nor gods can prevent me from claiming you."
Thunder shook the windows, a sound from the kitchen made my breath catch. It wasn't the first time my imagination played tricks since I'd started this nightly ritual. Yet tonight felt different. Heavier. Like the moment before the inexplicable becomes real.
The sudden knock at my door startled me.
One. Two. Three knocks.
Strong. Urgent. As if whoever stood behind the door knew I was holding my breath inside.
I shouldn't open it. But then, a voice, deep and rough, barely audible above the rain.
"Emma."
Heart pounding, I approached slowly and peered through the peephole.
Nothing.
Yet part of me already knew. Opening the door felt inevitable. Necessary.
And there he stood.
Soaked through, blood streaking down from a wound above his eyebrow. His shirt was torn, and each breath seemed labored. But his eyes, they were exactly how I'd written them. Green. Piercing. Intense.
-Emma -he whispered again, weaker this time- You wrote me. And now I'm here.
My diary fell from my shaking hands.