Midnight's Captive

Chapter ~ Four

After our heart-to-heart, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. The lingering doubts and unease from the previous night's events began to fade.

Amelia and I decided to spend the day indulging in our favorite activities – cooking, gossiping, and devouring books in her cozy kitchen.

It was like old times, reminiscent of our best friend days spanning over a decade.

Amelia, a voracious reader, devoured books across all genres. Her favorite? Suspense.

Me? I was hooked on dark romance novels.

And Asher Blackwood, the enigmatic protagonist from "Prince of Darkness," still lingered in my mind – Amelia's recommendation from a year and a half ago.

As we chopped vegetables and stirred pots, our conversation flowed effortlessly.

"Remember when you forced me to read 'Prince of Darkness'?" I teased.

Amelia chuckled.

"I knew you'd love Asher Blackwood!" she said, winking.

We spent the day lost in our own little world, surrounded by books, laughter, and warmth.

For the first time in 24 hours, I felt normal again.

The Asher Blackwood-induced haze had lifted, replaced by the comforting familiarity of friendship and shared passions.

As I stepped out of Amelia's apartment, the crisp afternoon air refreshed my senses. The fear that had lingered in my mind had dissipated, replaced by the warmth of our friendship.

But, as I walked towards my home, a familiar sensation crept in.

It started with a tingling at the back of my neck, a feeling that someone was watching me.

I quickened my pace, my heart beating slightly faster.

I turned around, scanning the crowded street.

No one.

I chuckled, shaking my head.

"Get a grip," I told myself. "You're just too invested in dark romance novels."

Those brooding heroes, always stalking their heroines, had clearly left an impression.

I imagined Asher Blackwood's piercing gaze following me, and laughed at my own foolishness.

My house was just 15 minutes away, and I picked up my pace, enjoying the gentle breeze.

As I walked, I pushed aside the fleeting sense of unease, attributing it to my overactive imagination.

But, just as I turned onto my street, a sudden gust of wind rustled the leaves.

And I could have sworn I heard a faint whisper:

"Blue Moon."

My heart skipped a beat.

I swiftly shook off the feeling, reassuring myself.

"It's just my imagination," I muttered.

How could a hero from a book possibly come to life?

That's the stuff of fiction, not reality.

I reminded myself that I loved reading for escapism, but there was a clear line between fantasy and fact.

"Maybe I should consult a doctor," I thought, slightly concerned about my own sanity.

My walking pace quickened, eager to reach the safety of my home.

The familiar surroundings would ground me, chase away these fanciful notions.