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Instead of stewing in my own dread, my fingers slid into my open bag, pulling out my sketch pad. No real plan. I just needed something to recenter my frayed mind. I couldn’t commit to anything but lines—until they formed something, and when they did, it felt like a spell had been placed on my fingers.

From the way I shaded the hair, I imagined it soft and almost white, falling just past her shoulders. Endless, really, spilling far past what the page could hold. I just knew her skin would be a silky ribbon of caramel by just how her lips were full and soft. Her cheekbones were high enough to make her look almost fairy-like. I didn’t know why I drew something so beautiful. Yawning, I stretched, just a quick break. And that’s when it happened.

Through the library windows… she was there.

The girl from my sketch.

Staring right at me. One hand pressed to the glass.

My body tensed instantly, terror prickling beneath my skin. I jerked my gaze away, forcing myself to breathe, to get a grip. When I looked back, she was gone. Maybe I was tired. Maybe my imagination had finally snapped. Who would believe it anyway? That I drew someone… into existence?

Impossible.

Forcing my attention back to the drawing, I added meaningless details, pretending I hadn’t seen anything at all. A few minutes passed, my focus thin and wandering, when a chair scraped beside me. I hadn’t even noticed anyone approach until a soft cough snapped me back to reality.

Our gazes locked as my head snapped open. And I knew her. She looked eerily, impossibly, like the sketch. “Hello,” she whispered, a soft dimple flickering in her cheek. Even in a whisper, I heard her accent, foreign, lilting, unfamiliar.

I just stared. Her smile faltered into a faint frown. “H-hello.” My voice barely made it out. Heat crept up the back of my neck as I pulled my arm over the drawing. She glanced at what little she could see, then back at me.

“I’m Valentina.”

“I’m Al—” I started, but she cut in, smiling.

“Alexander,” she whispered.

She just said my name. How was that possible?

Sure, I was mentioned around town, local games, newspaper blurbs, the occasional small-time news story, but she didn’t look familiar. Ash Town was small, twenty thousand people if you counted the outskirts. And she looked my age. I would’ve seen her somewhere. “How’d you know that?” I asked, nudging my chair back a little.

She looked exactly like the girl in my drawing. Those same stunning features. They were sharp but somehow soft. Even her hair wasn’t just long; it flowed all the way to her hips, silkier than anything I could’ve ever sketched.

“Your name?” she echoed, amusement warming her voice.

“Yes,” I repeated, slower this time, firmer. “How do you know it?”

“I know a lot of things about you, Alexander.” She said it calmly as she rose from her chair. Before I could scoot back, she moved behind me and slipped her arms around my neck, it felt closer to fire than warmth. Her breath brushed my ear as she leaned in. “I know more about you than you know about yourself,” she whispered. Then, softer, darker, “My king.” Her words slid through me like a shiver laced with something foreign and wrong. Panic shrieked through my chest, but I kept my face still, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing it.

Gently, I took her hands and lifted them from my neck. I stood, collecting my things, pulse thudding in my throat. “I’m not your king,” I said quietly, edging past her.

“Oh, come on,” she breathed behind me, her voice low, unbothered, undefeated. “Don’t be scared.”

Quickly, I found the library exit, thankfully close to where I’d parked. But just before stepping outside, instinct made me glance back over my shoulder. I needed to make sure I hadn’t imagined her. But no, she was still there. Standing exactly where I’d left her. Smirking.

Fastly turning, I slipped through the door into daylight. As I sank into the driver’s seat, an unearthly voice whispered through my mind: You cannot run from me. I will find you again, my king.

My eyes scanned around the empty parking lot. No one. Nothing. It wasn’t in my ears. It was inside my skull, like a thought that didn’t belong to me. Inhaling the warm, stale air of my car, I tried to steady myself. I was hearing things. I had to be.

Without realizing it, I bit into my bottom lip. Only when the taste of blood hit my tongue did I notice how hard. The moment it touched my mouth, a thrashing fire ignited my throat, violent and scorching, forcing the breath out of me.

A few drops slid to the corners of my lips, and I licked them away before they spilled. Beneath the iron there was something else… a sweetness that shouldn’t have been there. But it wasn’t nauseating. And then, just as suddenly as it had flared, the fire vanished. It was gone as fast as it came. The abruptness of it made me wonder if I’d imagined the whole thing. But something inside me knew better. It had burned like the sun, even if only for a second.

Before I could process it, my phone vibrated against my thigh. I pulled the small brick from my pocket and tapped the screen. A message from my mother:

COME HOME, URGENT NEWS.

My heart stirred at the bold text. The last time she’d used those words, my dad was dead. She didn’t have to ask me twice. I loved that woman more than life itself, and if something had happened to her, I needed to be there. I couldn’t lose her.

Without replying, I jammed the key into the ignition and peeled out onto the road, wanting to be anywhere but that library.