Three months later...
The storm had passed, but the clouds still loomed heavy over the Celestara Palace, a sprawling and secluded palace nestled at the edge of the Ashgrave Forest. Built from black stone and ancient wood, it stood like a forgotten cathedral, a place where time moved differently — slower, quieter, stranger.
Inside the estate, in a dimly lit study lined with towering bookshelves and velvet drapes that swayed gently in the breeze, sat Benjamin Gray.
His frame was worn, but not weak — a man carved by time and tempered by tragedy. He wore a loose black shirt, slightly wrinkled at the collar, and the glow of his cigarette burned like a crimson eye in the shadow. Curly, unkempt hair framed his pale face, and a pair of thick, round glasses clung stubbornly to the bridge of his nose.
He sat hunched over his old typewriter, a relic that clicked and clacked like ticking bones. His right leg rested stiffly on a small cushioned stool, wrapped in a brace from the accident that had nearly taken his life. Pain etched itself into his posture, but his hands never paused. Words spilled from his fingers like a man possessed.
Click. Clack. Tap.
The cigarette smoke curled toward the ceiling like a whisper rising to heaven.
He muttered softly as he typed, his voice dry but steady.
"William was killed horribly by Isabella…
Charlotte, his beloved wife, will undoubtedly uncover the truth…
And in doing so, she may be the key to freeing Isabella from her curse…" benjamin typed while saying....
Ding.
The final page emerged. He pulled it out, stared at it, and let out a long exhale.
The book was complete.
His hands trembled slightly, more from fatigue than fear. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair before placing the manuscript on the desk. The cigarette had burned nearly to the filter.
His gaze shifted to the clock.
3:02 AM.
Benjamin blinked.
"I thought it was… 9? Maybe 10?" He murmured to himself, eyes narrowing in disbelief.
He shook his head, picked up his old flip phone, and dialed.
The line buzzed.
And then…
"Hello…?"
The voice on the other end was thick with sleep. Jack, his publisher — loyal, overworked, and perennially under-rested.
"Jack. I've finished the book," Benjamin said, his voice rough but satisfied.
There was a pause. The sound of a yawn, then a tired chuckle.
"Sir… That's great! But couldn't this wait till morning? You do realize it's almost sunrise, right?"
Benjamin gave a small smirk, glancing toward the dark window.
"One night can change everything, Jack," he said. "And this one… felt like it needed to end with a full stop."
"You mean literally?" Jack joked.
Benjamin laughed lightly. "Yes. The last full stop just landed. And... apparently so did the moon."
Jack groaned. "You writers. Always so dramatic."
Benjamin grinned and shifted in his chair. "Apologies for disturbing your sacred dreams."
"No worries, sir. Tell me — how was it? The final stretch?"
A beat of silence passed, filled only by the soft rustle of paper.
"It's… good," Benjamin said at last. "Haunting, honest. The readers will love it. And they'll definitely crave the second part."
Jack perked up. "Really? That's great to hear. What's the story about exactly?"
Benjamin leaned forward, elbows on the desk. The study felt colder now, though the windows were shut.
"It's about a cursed angel," he said quietly.
There was a pause.
"A cursed angel?" Jack repeated, now fully awake. "That's… different. Go on."
Benjamin's tone shifted slightly — softer, darker.
"You see, Jack… Beyond Earth, there are other realms. Worlds we've only dreamed of in fragments. Realms of light. Realms of shadows. Places where angels dance… and monsters hide."
Jack remained silent, listening.
"And Isabella," Benjamin continued, "she's from one of those worlds. A celestial being, cast down to Earth… cursed. To break her chains, she must do the unthinkable — she must take lives."
Jack's voice dropped. "She kills people?"
"Men," Benjamin corrected. "Specifically… virgin men. One by one. Every full moon."
Jack whistled low. "Dark stuff. So she's the villain?"
Benjamin didn't respond at once. He glanced at the finished manuscript, then over his shoulder — as if sensing something unseen.
"No," he said finally. "She's not the villain. She's the tragedy."
Jack sat up straighter. "That's… poetic, actually. Man, you've got me hooked. Can you tell me more?"
Benjamin chuckled, a spark of mischief in his tired eyes. "Nope."
Jack laughed. "What? Come on, sir."
Benjamin smiled. "If you want more… you'll have to wait for the next chapter. Consider it a cliffhanger."
Jack groaned. "That's some ruthless marketing."
"Just part of the game," Benjamin said, stretching his sore limbs.
There was a brief silence before Jack's tone changed — hesitant, curious.
"…Sir. Just out of curiosity. Have you ever… seen her?"
The question hung in the air like a breath on cold glass.
Benjamin leaned back, his gaze drifting to the far corner of the room — the one that stayed unnaturally shadowed no matter how bright the lamp burned.
"No," he said softly. "I've never seen Isabella."
A pause.
"But she's here with me now."
The line crackled.
"Sir…? What did you say?"
But the words dissolved in static.
Benjamin stared at the phone.
Signal lost.
The screen blinked. Dead.
Outside, a breeze whispered through the cracks of the ancient estate.
And in the corner of the study, just beyond the glow of the desk lamp… something shifted....