I couldn't sleep.
After Lucian vanished as if he had never been there, after the diary shut itself and the wound on my palm healed without a trace... I stayed awake all night. Sitting on the floor, heart pounding in my ears, eyes fixed on that notebook that was no longer just an object. It was a door.
Was it real?
Or worse: what if it wasn't over?
Dawn painted the sky in metallic gray. I stood shakily, still breathless. The apartment looked the same, but the air felt different. Thicker. Warmer. More... alive.
On the table, the diary waited. Open. Blank. Silent. Until it wasn't.
A new sentence wrote itself before my eyes:
"Write, and he will return."
I didn't think. Or maybe I did, but with the part of me that doesn't fear the abyss. I grabbed the pen.
Come to me. Remind me how the world burns when you touch me.
The lights flickered. The temperature rose. The air held its breath. And then I felt it. Behind me.
–Did you mean it?
Lucian. His voice touched me before his hands did, but it was just as intense. I turned slowly, afraid of what I'd see... and wanting it more than I could admit.
He was there. More real than before. His eyes were fire restrained. His presence, a dark promise vibrating through my bones.
–Or do you write just to tease me?
–I didn't know it would work.
–But you wanted it to.
He took a step toward me. Then another. His body was inches from mine. His fingers slid along my arm like a tender threat.
–Because if you write to me like that -he whispered- then I'll touch you like you asked. Like the world doesn't exist.
My breath caught. My lips trembled.
–Lucian, what are you?
He smiled. A dangerous smile, almost sweet.
–I'm what you unleashed. What bleeds for you. What's going to claim every word you wrote... with your body.
I had no time to respond. The diary flew open. Another phrase appeared, written in deep red:
"Every written desire must be fulfilled. The next will be with skin."
The tip of his fingers brushed my waist. So gentle, like a whisper—but so electric I arched before I could think. His mouth hovered near my neck, close enough to burn, yet not touching.
–Tell me to stop.
I didn't.
And that was my choice.
His lips descended with unbearable slowness. He barely touched me, but it was enough. Like signing something without ink. Like my body reminded him he was real... and mine. Or worse: that I was his.
He held me with one firm hand at my hip, the other trailing up my back. His breath warmed my ear, his voice a low murmur.
–There's no going back now.
I closed my eyes. His mouth touched my collarbone, his tongue tracing a path I didn't understand but surrendered to. The heat building in my core was almost painful.
–What are you doing to me? – I whispered.
–Fulfilling what you wrote. Desire by desire.
The diary creaked again. New lines formed:
"Each word summons. Each line opens a door. Each body pays."
–What does that mean?
Lucian wrapped his arms around me. He no longer trembled. He no longer felt like a stranger.
–That desire isn't free, Emma. And you've written more than you know.
His lips traced down my neck to my shoulder, bare where my shirt had slipped. His body pinned mine against the wall—not violently, but without asking.
–How far does this go? – I gasped.
–As far as you keep writing. As far as you're willing to let me in.
I felt hypnotized. Caught. Alive. Like my skin was waking up for the first time.
–And if I stop writing?
Lucian paused. His eyes darkened, more dangerous.
–Then you'll lose me. And trust me, that would be worse.
The diary glowed for a moment. A new line burned across the page, like written in fire:
"Every story has an end. But some ends demand blood."
I pulled away, panicked.
–What is this? What kind of pact is this?
Lucian didn't answer immediately. He looked at me with something like pain. Like my words hurt him.
–You don't understand yet, but you will. This isn't just magic. It's memory. It's punishment. And you wrote the key.
–Key to what?
–To what we are. To what we were.
Something cracked inside me. A memory that wasn't mine. A face in shadows. A name in another tongue. A kiss in another life.
And then, everything went black.
I collapsed. My knees gave out, and the cold floor greeted me like a blow. Lucian tried to catch me, but I was already falling into myself.
Voices. Screams. Fire.
–Emma – his voice, the only thread in the abyss – you have to hold on.
But it was too late. The diary was burning. The words unraveled. And the past... woke up.