I sat with my head resting on the curve of my palms, eyes trading the screen in a moment of shrewdness filled to the brim with irritation.

All I could do was click my tongue against the back of my teeth in disapproval- at myself, at the lack of ability to actually place words down on a page as a writer should.

Someone turned off my writing faucet where I needed words to live, let them drain when I tried to desperately to make them sing. It was affecting me, and badly.

Heaving a sigh, I let my fingers scroll through the word document. My deadline fell on the twenty-fourth- when I was supposed to have the next chapter down, and I wasn't even complete with this one.

Irritating.

Hesitating, my fingers hovered over the keyboard, looking at where the cursor was on the screen. It blinked at me, a line of black against the white of the document.

"Don't look at me like that," I muttered lowly.

Lucia turns towards the man, her heart jumping into her throat as he comes up behind her.

It's nothing to be afraid of, she tells herself, resting a gloved hand over her heart to hear the erratic beat that's encased in her chest.

As she exhales, her eyes flick over to the man. He holds a letter within a twitching hand, fingers trembling.

"What now, what now?" I mused, tapping a fingernail against my screen. Although my tone was light, my heart was heavy, stone instead my chest filled with cracks of irritation toward myself.

I had taken a break for nearly four months now, and there was still no goddamn spark. I hated it- I hated writer's block, I hated my own writing style, I hated the crap I spewed onto digital screen and called a 'chapter', and I hated my lack of ability to actually write.

I wanted to write as a career. Lousing around and doing nothing wasn't going to do anything.

He offers to her and bows over, shaking like a leaf. Once Lucia pulls it from his grasp, he stands upright.

"T-Thank you," he stutters out, and with a curt step, leaves the room.

She steps towards her desk to get an opener, exploring with her hands to find it while her eyes focus on the letter's writing.

On the front, it says 'to the manipulator'.

In a heartbeat, she stiffens. Fingers freeze in midair, arching and stiff as she reads the address again.

The manipulator.

Lucia couldn't count how many times she had turned things to her favor through lies and wit- not only that, but twisting the other's mind.

She has to do that.

She has to use manipulation. Otherwise, she couldn't have gotten back to Mako. It's necessary. She has to do it to survive- it's self-defense.

No, it's not, a taunting voice threatens at the back of her mind. You could have done it any other way. But no, you chose the way that only stains your pretty white petals darker.

But... I suppose you're not a white flower anymore, then? Seeing how much you've destroyed.

I paused there, letting my head fall back with a sigh. At the corner of the tab, a little (1) appeared- a notification from my friend on Wattpad, most likely.

Snapping my eyes to attention, the cursor blinked once before words started to appear.

I stared in fascination for a moment, a cool chill sweeping through my body.

"Stay still," Lucia remarks. "You, the person in the corner. Watching me. Making me think these things."

I furrowed my brow, my eyes flicking over the story.

"Respond," she orders. "You have the power to do so, do you not?"

Letting myself bite down softly on my lip, my hands come to hesitantly rest upon the keyboard. I didn't type anything, watching the screen with absolute fascination.

"How..." I muttered, resting my chin on my open palm. "People say the novel isn't going to write itself, but..."

It was clearly occurring.

"PokemonRio," Lucia snaps. "Stand attention, stat. You are the real manipulator, the one who plays the strings- I believe this letter is for you."

Immediately, I flinched.

She had addressed me directly.

That wasn't possible. Lucia didn't exist. She was someone I made up- the lesbian, misunderstood protagonist that slowly turned into a villain.

She couldn't be speaking to me. Then again, most stories didn't write itself. Who cared about the rules of reality now?

"Um," I shift quietly side to side. "Are you referring to me?"

Lucia turns towards me, gloved fingers pulling open the letter encased in the envelope from earlier.

"You are the real manipulator here," she says. "The one that discards characters as if they're trash. What are you going to do to me, then? Toss me away? Reduce my character to the stereotypical girls without any sense of value or belief? What are you going to do with me?"

I ran my tongue against the back of my teeth, accidentally biting down.

You are the real manipulator here.

My heart froze in its chest.

Lucia watches me, still holding the letter. "It's for you," she says. "A letter addressed to the god that plays all."

I stretch my fingers to take hold of the letter, hesitating. When she encourages it into my hand, I take it, grip it tightly, and bring it to my chest.

"You've always been watching," Lucia remarks. "No matter the time. It's unsettling. It's like you're the god of this world- a god that no one believes in, but pulls the strings as if everything in their word is hung by strings." 

I watch Lucia for a moment, a chill running its fingers down my spine. 

"You can take anything apart with the flick of your finger, even unravel time itself. What's someone like you doing in a pit of nothingness where no one realizes your potential?"

This time, her words had started to unsettle me in real life. Something cold closed over my hands, frozen and resting on the keyboard on my computer. 

Potential? What potential? I was someone who relied on something else to push me through- the imaginative portion of my mind. It wasn't physical, I made people and worlds as a hobby, and maybe even as my career. 

Wow, that'd do great for a job interview. 

"On track, Rio," Lucia speaks calmly. "Open the letter, why don't you? After all, it's addressed to someone of the likes of you." 

I peel the letter open, but the letter is... white. Only white. The paper is a canvas of nothing but blindness, with nothing that looks like ink on it. 

"Is this a joke?" I demand. 

"Is it, PokemonRio? Perhaps you'd like the option of being stuck in a world where all you are is something to be used with the plotline."

Lucia's voice sounds murky to my ears. A hiss. Inhumane. One of the monster rather than her steady tone of voice. 

My vision tips, and things start to bleed together, like it's an oil painting with water spilled over it. The colors mix to create a blend- it's not natural.

This wasn't right.

This wasn't right.

"Do you enjoy being a puppet, only to be abandoned when your creator stops taking interest in you?"