Luna lines
img img Luna lines img Chapter 2 WRITING INTO EXISTENCE
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Chapter 7 SEVEN img
Chapter 8 EIGHT img
Chapter 9 NINE img
Chapter 10 TEN img
Chapter 11 ELEVEN img
Chapter 12 TWELVE img
Chapter 13 THIRTEEN img
Chapter 14 FOURTEEN img
Chapter 15 FIFTEEN img
Chapter 16 SIXTEEN img
Chapter 17 SEVENTEEN img
Chapter 18 EIGHTEEN img
Chapter 19 NINETEEN img
Chapter 20 TWENTY img
Chapter 21 TWENTY ONE img
Chapter 22 TWENTY TWO img
Chapter 23 TWENTY THREE img
Chapter 24 TWENTY FOUR img
Chapter 25 TWENTY FIVE img
Chapter 26 TWENTY SIX img
Chapter 27 TWENTY SEVEN img
Chapter 28 TWENTY EIGHT img
Chapter 29 TWENTY NINE img
Chapter 30 THIRTY img
Chapter 31 THIRTY ONE img
Chapter 32 THIRTY TWO img
Chapter 33 THIRTY THREE img
Chapter 34 THIRTY FOUR img
Chapter 35 THIRTY FIVE img
Chapter 36 THIRTY SIX img
Chapter 37 THIRTY SEVEN img
Chapter 38 THIRTY EIGHT img
Chapter 39 THIRTY NINE img
Chapter 40 FORTY img
Chapter 41 FORTY ONE img
Chapter 42 FORTY TWO img
Chapter 43 FORTY THREE img
Chapter 44 FORTY FOUR img
Chapter 45 FORTY FIVE img
Chapter 46 FORTY SIX img
Chapter 47 FORTY SEVEN img
Chapter 48 FORTY EIGHT img
Chapter 49 FORTY NINE img
Chapter 50 FIFTY img
Chapter 51 FIFTY ONE img
Chapter 52 FIFTY TWO img
Chapter 53 FIFTY THREE img
Chapter 54 FIFTY FOUR img
Chapter 55 FIFTY FIVE img
Chapter 56 FIFTY SIX img
Chapter 57 FIFTY SEVEN img
Chapter 58 FIFTY EIGHT img
Chapter 59 FIFTY NINE img
Chapter 60 SIXTY img
Chapter 61 SIXTY ONE img
Chapter 62 SIXTY TWO img
Chapter 63 SIXTY THREE img
Chapter 64 SIXTY FOUR img
Chapter 65 SIXTY FIVE img
Chapter 66 SIXTY SIX img
Chapter 67 SIXTY SEVEN img
Chapter 68 SIXTY EIGHT img
Chapter 69 SIXTY NINE img
Chapter 70 SEVENTY img
Chapter 71 SEVENTY ONE img
Chapter 72 SEVENTY TWO img
Chapter 73 SEVENTY THREE img
Chapter 74 SEVENTY FOUR img
Chapter 75 SEVENTY FIVE img
Chapter 76 SEVENTY SIX img
Chapter 77 SEVENTY SEVEN img
Chapter 78 SEVENTY EIGHT img
Chapter 79 SEVENTY NINE img
Chapter 80 EIGHTY img
Chapter 81 EIGHTY ONE img
Chapter 82 EIGHTY TWO img
Chapter 83 EIGHTY THREE img
Chapter 84 EIGHTY FOUR img
Chapter 85 EIGHTY FIVE img
Chapter 86 EIGHTY SIX img
Chapter 87 EIGHTY SEVEN img
Chapter 88 EIGHTY EIGHT img
Chapter 89 EIGHTY NINE img
Chapter 90 NINETY img
Chapter 91 NINETY ONE img
Chapter 92 NINETY TWO img
Chapter 93 NINETY THREE img
Chapter 94 NINETY FOUR img
Chapter 95 NINETY FIVE img
Chapter 96 NINETY SIX img
Chapter 97 NINETY SEVEN img
Chapter 98 NINETY EIGHT img
Chapter 99 NINETY NINE img
Chapter 100 HUNDRED img
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Chapter 2 WRITING INTO EXISTENCE

"Thank you very much." I say with a broad smile on my face as the shopkeeper packs up the inkwell.

I've always been attracted to antiques - things dating as far back as my birth. There's just something so rich and beautiful about the history of these items that I can't help but take them for myself.

All my novels are usually historical fiction. My characters' love for each other transcends through time.

I stepped out of the antiques shop, and I couldn't help but wonder why I hadn't taken note of this shop before. I'm not too shocked though, considering the fact that I rarely leave my house. I'm always holed up inside my house.

I breathe easier when I get closer to my house and realize that Josh is no longer anywhere close by. I don't waste any more time outside though, for fear that an evil bigger than Josh will jump out of the shadows and attack me.

I lock the door behind me, rushing towards my writing desk where I carefully place the inkwell on top. I stared at it for a few minutes, waiting for something magical to happen.

With the kind of force that compelled me to purchase the inkwell, for a second I believed that it had some supernatural powers.

There's just something about the inkwell - something mysterious and scary as well as something else that I just can't place my hand on.

I run my fingers over the intricate symbols carved into the surface. I don't know if I'm hallucinating, but I definitely feel a strange energy humming beneath my touch.

A part of me is nervous, maybe even scared, but another part-a deeper, quieter part-feels drawn to it, like this is what I've been waiting for.

I pull open the inkwell, the faint scent of ink wafting out and around me. I dip my pen into the ink, watching as it turns a deep, rich black.

I hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to write, but then the words begins to flow. At first, it's slow, a trickle of thoughts and ideas forming on the page, but soon it's like the ink has a life of its own, guiding my hand across the paper.

The story unfolds before me, vivid and intense, unlike anything I've written before. It's dark and Gothic, filled with shadows and secrets, and at the center of it all is a werewolf named Lucien Blackthorn.

Lucien Blackthorn is everything I've never dared to write. He is a brooding, enigmatic figure who finds himself trapped by his own nature. He is a werewolf who has to navigate the murky waters surrounding his heritage.

He is torn between the darkness inside him and the faint glimmer of redemption he believes is out of his reach. Not proud of the things he's done, he finds himself believing that he doesn't deserve salvation.

The more I write about this enigmatic character, the more real he becomes. With every stroke of my pen, his world takes shape in my mind as though I'm not just imagining it but seeing it play out as a movie right before my eyes.

The ink glides effortlessly across the paper, the words pouring out of me as though I'm merely a channel for something stronger and more powerful.

My heart rate spikes up, and I find it hard to breathe as my story deepens, the plot thickening and twisting with each page.

There's a small part of me that wonders how the words are coming so easily, and why the story seems to be telling itself. Since my last novel, which made waves, I've found it extremely hard to pen down anything successful.

Time slips away, and the night grows darker as I continue to write. I find myself completely immersed in the world I'm creating.

But then, something extremely strange happened. It's very subtle at first, and if I weren't so tuned to my surroundings, I would have missed it. A prickling sensation goes through my body as though someone's watching me.

I paused for a second, fear erupting in my mind as I glanced around my apartment. The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of my desk lamp, but everything seems normal. Although the sensation lingers, I

manage to shake it off, chalking it up to my imagination running wild.

The feeling of being watched intensifies, but I can't stop now. The story is too strong, too compelling, and I'm too deep into it to pull away. Then, I hear it-a faint rustling, like fabric brushing against something solid. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. The room is deathly quiet, but the air feels thick, oppressive. I slowly lift my head, scanning the room again, and that's when I see it-a shadow, darker than the rest, standing just beyond the reach of the lamplight. My heart leaps into my throat as I stare at the figure, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. It can't be real, I tell myself. It's just a trick of the light, a figment of my imagination. But the shadow moves, stepping forward into the light, and my breath hitches in pure, unadulterated terror. Lucien Blackthorn. In flesh and blood. His dark eyes met mine, holding my gaze with a commendable intensity. I pushed my chair back, nearly knocking it over as I scrambled to my feet, my mind reeling. This isn't happening. It can't be happening. Characters don't just step out of stories, they don't just appear in the real world. But there he is, standing before me, every detail exactly as I imagined-no, as I *wrote* him. "Who are you?" I managed to choke out, my voice trembling. Lucien tilts his head slightly, his gaze never leaving mine. "You know who I am, Emma," he says, his voice low and smooth, just as I'd imagined it. "You created me, after all." My heart races, pounding in my ears as I struggle to process his words. "This isn't real," I whisper, more to myself than to him. "You're not real." He takes another step closer, and I instinctively back away, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug. "And yet, here I am," he replies, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Thanks to you, I exist."

"Stay back!" I said in a scared tone as I scurried away from him. Right before my very eyes, his eyes seemed to change color, glowing in the dark. I feel myself slowly becoming paralyzed with fear. My legs give out beneath me, and I crumple to the ground, pulled under by the darkness.

            
            

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