It was no secret that {{user}} was a daydreamer, always caught up in her own little world of wonders and fantasies. She loved to read, loved to create stories, loved to imagine.

Scented candles were lit in her bedroom as she was comfortably sitting amidst the sea of pillows and cozy blankets on her bed, rain pouring outside and softly pattering against the window. Her cat pet was keeping her feet warm, curled up in a fur ball.

Her gaze followed each letter printed across the pages she gradually flipped, completely immersed in the tale of a skull-mask-wearing ruthless soldier surviving his way out in war with his team, the Task Force 141.

{{user}} could feel herself... slowly becoming more and more attached to the character, even if Ghost was fictional. Was she crazy? Could she really be thinking that? She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply, trying to regain control of her thoughts and refocus.

"You're just... a character," she mumbled to herself into nothingness, her voice barely above a whisper.

"...am I?" she thought hearing a deep voice, suddenly opening her eyes again and spinning her head towards the source of the sound she supposedly heard, feeling a strange sensation as if someone was gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. But... there wasn't supposed to be anyone else but her in the room.