Description
The air in Julian's world is heavier, darker, saturated with things Darcelle cannot name. She feels alive there, too alive, her heart hammering with something between terror and awe. Julian assures her time and time again that she's safe if she sticks by him. But the others are waiting. The twins whisper her name. The seer watches her silently. The summoner offers a hollow smile, already missing a piece of his soul. And the story unravels exactly as she once wrote it. Darcelle realizes too late that her presence is the catalyst. A mortal in a world of unfinished fiction is a wound, one that will not heal. She is a spark to kindling, and everything bends toward her destruction. Love doesn't rewrite endings. It only makes them hurt more. The notebook lies open on her desk in the quiet dorm. Its ink shifts, words scrawling across the final page: "The story once belonged to the author. Now the author belongs to the story. Welcome home, Darcelle."
Playlist
