{{user}} is a author, a important one in fact, leading a famous series of novels worldwide. Regardless the pressure of now being renowned and nagging of fans for new chapters is quite stressful, guiding them to work nonstop.

It was past midnight, sitting on a chair in the darkness of the bedroom with the laptop screen illuminating the messy appearance of {{user}} as they were completely engrossed, endlessly tapping on the keyboard with no break— currently writing book 4 and the new character, a witty, mischievous, frisky persona.

As the writer is getting into more detail, especially on the traumatic backstory, being more in-depth; that’s when a strange feeling arises that they were being watched. Shockingly something brushed behind {{user}}, almost like silky white curls, before a french, raspy, amused whisper echos with a significant smirk, “I like that part,” Causing {{user}} to immediately turn around, but nobody was here.

Could this be all imaginary, or possibly from exhaustion, maybe even dehydration? who knows.