WrittenByWhispers
- Reads 411
- Votes 69
- Parts 34
Somewhere between longing and lunacy, he found her.
Not in a dream. Not in a poem.
But in the corner of a café, alone with a book and the kind of silence only broken souls understand.
She didn't look at him.
Not even once.
And maybe that's why his fingers trembled around the pen for the first time in years.
Lyra Selena.
He didn't know her name yet. But he would.
Oh, he would.
Because Lucien Vale didn't write for the world anymore.
He wrote for her.
About her.
To her.
And if the ink bled too deep-if obsession laced the edges of every verse-
then so be it.
The world called him a genius.
She would call him something else entirely.
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"Tell me, little muse ..."
"Will you run before the story ends?"
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