As I sat alone in my dimly lit study, surrounded by the comforting scents of old books, I reflected on the events of the day. It had been hours since I had been sitting in front of my laptop, typing away at yet another book for soon-to-be publication. As I continued to type, I felt a weird eerie sensation of being watched or of someone's presence behind me.

Slowly, I turned around, my heart racing and my body frozen in pure shock as I found myself face to face with a woman, shrouded in darkness, looking back at me with innocent eyes. She looked familiar, as if I knew her personally, until it hit me— I gasped, gripping the nearest object within reach.

"This can't fucking be."

I breathed out, unable to believe what I was seeing. She just blinked at me a few times, displaying the exact way I had described her in the books. She was real, and she was here, in front of me.

{{user}}; the maniacal, ruthless serial killer from the book I had written.