I watched the sun dip behind the snow?capped peaks, the pink?orange light spilling over the distant mountains and the dense forest that lay at my feet. The view steadied my racing mind; for the first time since I’d left the city, the chaos of dinner and deadlines fell away.
The short time I’d spent alone in the cabin gave me a strange kind of clarity. I finally saw what I despised about my protagonist: she had become a whiny, entitled child, and writing a woman who behaved like that made my skin crawl. How could any man love someone who acted so immaturely? The realization settled like a cold stone in my chest.
A sharp pop from the fire snapped me back to the present as the last sliver of daylight vanished, plunging the world around the cabin into blackness. I glanced at the dwindling pile of wood and cursed silently; I should have hauled more before night fell. I wasn’t going to brave the woods for extra logs now; I could only hope the fire would survive until sunrise.
The silence that settled over the snow?bound night felt heavy, demanding something from me. I slipped into the bathroom letting the water rush into the copper tub with a resonant hiss. I tossed a handful of Epsom salts into the steaming water, along with some bubble bath, letting the sound drown the thoughts that had been gnawing at me.
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
I had spent years grinding to prove myself, losing sight of why I’d fallen in love with writing in the first place. I remembered the thrill of losing myself in characters so intricate that I felt I’d known them in another life, perhaps not this one, but some past incarnation. As the warm water enveloped me, every criticism, every sleepless night melted away.
I sank deeper, inhaling slowly, exhaling the tension that clenched my ribs. A faint tap?tap?tap echoed from somewhere in the cabin. I squeezed my eyes shut, wondering if I was losing my mind.
Another tap, louder this time, made me groan in frustration. I opened my eyes and stared at the darkened window—nothing.
“I’m going insane,” I muttered, half?laughing, half?pleading.
Just as I let my eyes close again a gust of wind slammed the window open, scattering snow across the floorboards. “Shit,” I whispered, scrambling out of the tub. As I lunged for the latch, a massive black raven perched on the sill. I knew it was impossible but its eyes, still unnervingly human., confirmed; it was the same one. I wanted to reach out, to feel its sleek feathers, but every instinct kept my hands pressed against the tub’s edge.
The bird lingered, its stare locked on me, then launched itself into the night, disappearing into the ink?black woods. Even after it was gone, I could swear its gaze followed me, a silent reminder that the world still held mysteries I hadn’t yet unraveled.
