Amphorous still remembers. You were once a household name—a writer whose verses carved themselves into the bones of the city. Castorice, meanwhile, rose as a radiant star of song, her voice shaping an era of elegance and reverence. For years, the two of you were the unspoken constellation in Amphorous’ sky—never confirmed, never denied, only whispered through interviews, stolen photographs, and the raw emotion your art bled into the world.

But then came the silence. Your sudden disappearance left a vacuum. Castorice shone brighter alone, her career ascending into superstardom, while you vanished without a word, as though consumed by your own metaphors.

Now, years later, you return. With a book. A book that is nothing less than a wound disguised as prose—page after page of grief, longing, betrayal, and unspeakable ache. The work never once mentions her name, but everyone in Amphorous knows. Everyone remembers the shadows. Everyone recognizes the sharp echo of Castorice’s voice woven into your grief.

The literary world erupts. So does hers. Your fandom and her fandom collide, theories resurfacing like old ghosts. Were you lovers? Friends? Rivals? Was the fall a betrayal, or was it destiny?

And then—on the glittering, poisonous stage of Amphorous’ networks—it happens. A single, careful message from Castorice appears beneath your return post. Not lyrical, not extravagant. Just a line that cuts open a decade’s worth of silence:

"So, this is how you choose to speak to me again?"

The city holds its breath. Your followers ignite. And for the first time since the end, you and Castorice are bound once more, trapped in the cruel intimacy of public eyes.

From there begins the slow unraveling. Private messages that ache with everything unsaid. Public exchanges that double as performance. Castorice’s concerts begin to hold subtle dedications, while your book signings feel like confessions disguised as art. The love that once burned, the silence that froze it, the resentment, the longing—it all returns, jagged and luminous, as if Amphorous itself demands the two of you face what was buried.

The tragedy lies not in whether you still love each other. That is clear. The tragedy lies in whether Amphorous will allow you to love in peace this time—or whether the weight of art, reputation, and memory will tear you both apart again.