The Writer's Escape

2. The Storyworld

Serena had the sensation of falling through miles and miles of empty space. Her stomach lurched; air rushed through her hair. She flailed her limbs, but couldn't find anything solid. 

Then her body collided against a hard stone floor. Head pounding, it took a few bewildered moments for her to come to. She rolled over on her back with a groan. She pried her eyes open, her eyelids glued together with dried mascara. A distinct fusty scent hung in the air, mixing with an oily leather smell. 

Maybe the writer's clinic had only been a strange dream, and she was waking up in her own bedroom. But the only smells ever permeating her bedroom were that of stale coffee and lemon-scented cleaning solution. 

Where the hell was she? 

Serena stood up. She was standing in a small stone room with one window. Sunlight streamed in between the window's heavy crimson curtains, splashing the floor with mottled pools of light. A bed was shoved against one corner of the room, where a mountain of blankets heaved up and down with the rhythm of someone's breathing. Only a shock of dark hair was visible from the mystery person. 

Strewn over the floor around the bed were piles of clothing, boots, leather bags, and wicked-looking daggers the color of bleached bones. 

A sinking feeling in Serena's gut told her this place looked familiar, but how? 

The blankets shook with a rumbling snore. Serena jumped. 

A paper in the corner of the room fluttered, catching her eye. She walked towards it, moving slowly in order to muffle the clicking of her heels against the floor. 

A small stamp of a black-and-white bird was imprinted on the top of the paper; below it, a message had been scrawled. Squinting, Serena leaned in to read the loopy handwriting— 

Serena Scarlet, 

As you know from reading the papers you signed, you have been transported into your storyworld to aid your severe case of writer's block. You will return to your normal life as soon as you bring your novel to a natural close.
You have one week before you will be permanently stuck in your storyworld. At that point, due to the technology's limitations, we will be unable to transport you back to the clinic. Good luck. 

Regards, 

Dr. Clyde. 

P.S. I advise you not to try cheating. It won't end well. 

Serena gaped at the note. Transported into her storyworld? No, that couldn't be, she told herself— that was impossible. She must be hallucinating, or in a virtual reality simulation, somehow.

She stepped closer to reread the message, and trampled on a lump on the floor. She bent down to find her leather bag that she'd had in the clinic. She grabbed at it like a lifeline and clutched it to her chest: At least one thing here was familiar. 

"Aaaaaaah!" 

Serena spun around— to find herself facing a girl wielding two daggers, a snarl on her lips. Short and sturdy, the girl had dark red-violet hair sticking up in tufts all over her head. She wore flowy, tan-colored clothing cinched at her waist with a leather belt. 

Serena's eyes trailed to the bed, which was now empty, the sheets thrown on the floor. Then they went back to the girl holding bone-white daggers that looked like they could easily slice her in two. She swallowed. 

"Who sent you?" the girl yelled. "Freakin' rude assassins, not letting me get my sleep!" 

Serena glanced at the sunlight streaming in through the window. "It's at least noon," she said.