1727pm
"He was written in ink, i bled myself into his world."
Eleanor Blackwood never consumed media casually.
Books, movies, music-she buried herself in them, using them as armor against the weight of perfection, of expectation, of a reality too dull, too suffocating to bear.
But when she watches that movie, something changes.
Lucian isn't just a character.
He's a presence. A whisper in the dark. A shadow that lingers in the corners of her vision.
At first, it's admiration. Then fascination. Then something deeper, something darker-an obsession that wraps around her mind like thorns, tightening, sinking in.
She tells herself it's just a phase.
She tells herself it isn't real.
But the more she dreams of him, the more she feels him-the more the lines between fiction and reality begin to blur.
And when she finally meets him, she'll realize the truth:
Lucian was never just a character.
He was waiting for her all along.