The frozen heart

Chapter 44: The Shift Begins

The Shift Begins

Anne sat at the desk in their quiet room, the faint glow of a single candle flickering against the dim evening light. Kaiden was out, ensuring their latest refuge remained undiscovered, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Her gaze drifted to the leather-bound book resting on the desk: The Frozen Heart.

It was the same book that had pulled her into this world, the same one that had dictated so much of her and Kaiden's fates. She hadn't dared to look at it since the exorcist's death, wanting to believe that his demise had marked the end of the story. Yet, an uneasiness lingered in her chest, a whisper she couldn't ignore.

Tonight, she would check.

Anne's fingers brushed the worn cover, hesitant but resolute. Slowly, she opened it, the familiar scent of old paper filling the air. Her eyes skimmed over the prologue, unchanged from the first time she'd read it, and she flipped forward to where she knew the exorcist's final confrontation should had been detailed.

The pages were crisp, yet as her fingers turned them, her heart began to pound.

The chapter describing the exorcist's demise was there. Kaiden's precise and brutal actions, the cold vengeance he had enacted—it was all laid out in stark, unflinching detail. But as she turned to what should have been the book's conclusion, her breath caught in her throat.

There was more.

The story didn't end with the exorcist's fall. The ink continued to flow, crafting a narrative that had never existed before. Anne's hands trembled as she turned page after page, her chest tightening with every word.

The focus had shifted.

The passages no longer described Kaiden's descent into darkness or his quest for vengeance. Instead, they chronicled someone else—someone familiar.

Anne.

Her name appeared again and again, each mention like a dagger to her chest. The descriptions painted her as a figure of hope, of light. She was the one who could restore balance, the one who could bring peace. The Hero.

"No," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Her fingers tightened around the edges of the book as she read further. The words seemed to taunt her, confirming the truth she didn't want to believe. She was no longer a passive observer, no longer a background character swept along by the tides of fate.

The story was about her now.

The realization settled heavily in her chest, a mix of dread and disbelief. She stood abruptly, pushing the chair back with a screech against the wooden floor. Her movements were frantic as she flipped through the remaining pages, searching for an explanation, for something—anything—that could make sense of this.

But the truth was undeniable.

Her breathing grew shallow, her vision blurring as her mind raced. The Hero and the Villain. She and Kaiden. Their roles were now clear, and the story was still being written.

"No, no, no," she muttered, pacing the room.

Her hand flew to her chest, pressing against the dull ache that had been growing ever since the exorcist's death. She thought it had been grief, exhaustion, or the remnants of her fear. But now she knew better.

It was the story.

The shift had begun the moment the exorcist fell, and with it, the invisible threads of the narrative had tightened around her.

The candle's flame flickered violently, as if sensing her turmoil. Anne clutched the book to her chest, its weight suddenly unbearable.

The door creaked behind her, and her heart jumped, the sound snapping her back to reality.