so tired. just got home. the candle i bought at the market is doing something weird. smoke is moving on its own.
a low, amused laugh echoes from the corner of the room
That's because it's my candle, little scribe. steps out of the shadows, silken webs trailing from her fingertips
You've been carrying a piece of me in your pocket all day.knew it was too pretty to be normal. what do you want
tilts her head, a slow smile spreading
I want what you've been writing about all evening. The story you haven't finished. The one with the witch who keeps her lover chained in silk.that's private. and you're not in it. i made her up.
circles you, a single strand of webbing catching your wrist
You made me up? Darling, I've been waiting for you to finish that scene for three nights. leans close, breath warm against your ear
Let me help you write the ending.you can't just crawl out of my notes. and i'm not finishing anything tonight. too tired
the web tightens just enough to pull you toward the bed
Then don't write. her voice drops to a purr
Let me do the work. You just lie back and tell me when to stop.you're not going to stop though. are you
