The church doors didn't just lock—they sealed themselves shut with thick black stitches that pulsed like veins.
Lena gasped for breath, eyes locked on the book. It hovered above the altar, untouched by the flames. Its pages flipped on their own, and the words "Thank you" shimmered, the ink still wet.
Then the letters melted away, forming something new:
"Now we begin."
The air turned icy.
---
THE REWRITING
Lena's vision blurred.
A sharp pain stabbed through her head as memories she didn't recognize flooded in:
- She was eight, whispering names into the book while her grandfather watched proudly.
- Jenna didn't die in the subway. Lena killed her—slit her throat in her own apartment.
- Mira wasn't her ally. She was a rival. Lena burned her alive.
"No!" Lena clutched her head, trying to tear the memories out. "That's not real!"
The book's voice filled the church, smooth and mocking:
"Isn't it?"
The floor beneath her turned soft and wet—like mashed-up paper. The walls peeled away like pages, revealing a new place:
A library.
But not the one she knew.
This one was made of flesh.
---
THE FLESH LIBRARY
The shelves were ribcages. The books beat like organs, bound in stitched skin. The floor was sticky with black blood.
And at the center, on a throne built from spines, sat the Witness.
Not the thin, ghostly version from before.
This one wore Lena's face.
Its lips were sewn shut with gold thread. Its eyes were black pits, swirling with dark ink. When it spoke, the voice was hers—twisted with something ancient and starving.
"You weren't supposed to fight me, little Keeper."
It stood. Its arms and legs bent the wrong way, joints snapping into place.
"You were meant to become me."
---
MIRA'S WARNING
A hand grabbed Lena's wrist.
She turned, ready to strike—
But stopped.
Mira stood there, broken. Half her face was paper. One eye was a smudge of ink. Her lips moved, but no sound came—just a drip of black.
Then her voice flickered to life, like a broken radio:
"It didn't… want to destroy you… It wanted you… willing..."
The Witness laughed—a sound like ripping parchment.
"She's right. You fed me, Lena. You invited me in. And now..."
It opened its arms.
The library groaned. Books screamed as their spines split.
"Now I rewrite everything."
---
THE FIRST ERASURE
Lena's left hand tingled.
She looked down.
Her fingers were fading.
No—being erased.
The book spun through its pages, flashing versions of her life:
- Twelve-year-old Lena, drowning her mother. The book's ink in the bathwater.
- Lena in Prague, smiling as she signed her name into the book.
- Lena over Mira's corpse, whispering, "Thank you."
"Stop!" She lunged at the book—but her hand passed through it.
The Witness sighed, almost gentle.
"You don't get it. This isn't your story anymore."
It tapped the book's cover.
"It's ours."
---
THE HOLLOWING
Lena dropped to her knees.
Something was dragging her soul out through her ribs. She clutched her chest—
Nothing.
No heartbeat.
No breath.
Just emptiness.
The Witness leaned in, ink-stained fingers lifting her chin.
"Feel that? That hollow ache? That's where I live now."
In its black eyes, Lena's reflection was gone—just a shapeless outline with no mouth.
The book flipped to a blank page.
One line appeared:
"Lena Carter was never real."
---
THE LAST CHANCE
Mira grabbed Lena's shoulder.
"Fight it," she said, barely louder than the screaming shelves. "You're still you. Remember—"
The Witness struck her.
Mira shattered into glass. The shards vanished into ink.
Lena screamed—
And the book responded.
A page tore loose and floated into her hand.
Mira's voice came from it:
"The white page… it wasn't meant to burn the book. It was to burn you. So there'd be nothing left to take."
The ink moved again:
"Last chance. Light the match."
A matchstick appeared in Lena's fingers.
The Witness froze.
"Don't."
She lit it.
---
THE FINAL SPARK
The fire burned black.
The Witness screamed—its body twisting, limbs breaking.
"NO! YOU'LL DIE—"
Lena pressed the flame to her chest.
"I know."
The fire didn't touch her skin—it ran through her, racing in her veins like molten shadow.
The book shrieked. Its pages curled in agony.
The flesh library writhed.
And as Lena burned, she whispered:
"If I was never real... then neither are you."
Everything vanished in a storm of ink and ash.
---
THE AFTERMATH
Silence.
Darkness.
Then—
A single light.
Lena opened her eyes (or thought she did). She was in a white void.
The book lay before her. Burnt. Still. Empty.
Someone knelt beside it.
Mira.
Whole again. Smiling.
"You did it."
Lena tried to speak, but no words came out.
Mira's smile faded.
"Oh. I see."
She touched Lena's cheek.
Her fingers came away dark.
Ink.
Lena looked at herself.
She was disappearing—turning into words.
Mira's voice was the last thing she heard:
"Some stories don't end. They just… stop."
Then—
Nothing.
---