Josie?
Oh, the romance writer who never knows the meaning of giving up, right? Who is always full of enthusiasm in pursuit of inspiration, as if her life depends on it.
Shameful? Maybe that's what people call her. With sparkling eyes and a notebook always in hand, Josie is willing to do anything, even if it means risking her pride. From charming people who would become the inspiration for characters in her stories, eavesdropping on couples' conversations in cafes, to sneaking into formal events under the guise of "research". There was no limit to what the girl would do to pour her wild imagination into words.
Danger? Shame? Those were just minor obstacles for her.
How many books has Josie published? Many, perhaps close to six novels. And every single one of her novels has become a sensation on the market. In Bluebill, women scramble to read her novels. They are captivated by the romantic stories and intrigue she creates so beautifully.
Her books sold well and the royalties from their sales flowed freely, enough to rent a one-storey building in the heart of the capital. But Josie was not the type to squander money on such luxuries. She preferred to save her wealth, stack new books in her small room, and continue writing, chasing the next story that would shake readers' hearts.
How many men had been victims—hm, correction—sources of inspiration for Josie's pen, which never tired of dancing across the paper? There were many, too many to count on her fingers. Starting with Leon Everhart, her sister's husband, whose warm and attentive manner inspired the male lead in Josie's debut novel. Then there was Sir Benjamin, the brave knight whose face was etched in Josie's memory as she wrote Blade & The Royal Heirs. Not to be forgotten is Henry Beaumont, a good friend and talented painter, whose brushstrokes helped Josie visualise her characters. And who could forget Victor Langston? The owner of a small café in Bluebill, a former theatre actor with a charming smile.
Names such as Leon, Benjamin, Henry, and Victor are not the only men who fill Josie's notebook. Almost every handsome man in Bluebill has been the canvas of her imagination. Even the newspaper seller on the street corner, with his bright smile and tousled hair, was once the initial sketch for the character of an adventurer in one of her stories.
Then what about the female characters in her novels? Why look for inspiration far away when Josie has three beautiful and charming sisters, each with a charm that could bring the female characters in her novels to life? Not to mention her best friend, a young noblewoman with stunning beauty, albeit a little eccentric, with a wild laugh and unpredictable ideas. Aren't they more than enough to inspire strong and captivating female characters?
Yes. Josie will make good use of the resources at hand without having to look far and wide for female characters. It's a different story when it comes to male characters. Josie has to go out of her way to find inspiration for the male characters in her stories.
And every time she starts a new story, a new sacred ritual begins. Josie will sharpen her mind first to refresh it, then prepare her pen and notebook before stepping out with a clear mission. To hunt for handsome men to fill the soul of the male lead in her novel.
There is only one goal and that is not to fall in love with every handsome man she meets, but to research characters. At least, that's what Josie always tells herself.
How does she find her male characters?
A handsome face is a must. A captivating aura is an absolute requirement. Deep, ocean-like eyes? That's a bonus. A strong jawline and a deep, resonant voice? Rare, but if found, his name is immediately noted neatly in her little book.
That's why the residents of Bluebill call her the Handsome Man Hunter. It's not a mockery, but rather a kind of tribute to her unflagging enthusiasm. With a pen always tucked between her fingers and a notebook always tucked in her pocket, Josie explores the city, observing every movement and smile and turning them into stories that make her readers' hearts flutter.
The funny thing is, many single women in Bluebill often meet her just to ask for a little advice or perhaps a recommendation for a man.
"Josie, don't you think the man who works at the fabric shop is handsome?"
"Josie, if you haven't used the baker in your novel yet, can I try dating him?"
"Josie, the one who brought a big dog to the market yesterday, would he be a good match for me?"
And Josie only responded with a faint smile, as if evaluating their questions like a literary critic. "Yeah, he is handsome," she replied with a flat expression, "but not as handsome as the men in my novels."
Josie's daily life as a young writer at Bluebill is never dull. Her imagination is like a fire that never goes out, always flaring up suddenly, whether she is brewing tea and the steam suddenly forms the image of a new character, or when she is combing her hair and the mirror reflects an idea for the next chapter. For her, Bluebill is just a temporary stage, full of actors who are unaware that they are being observed and written about by a young writer. The real world is always in her head, where her characters live, whisper, and become loyal friends who never leave.
That is how he creates the characters in his stories. Likewise, the narratives he writes are full of various emotions.
A sentence can be born from the aroma of warm bread wafting from a shop on the street corner. A plot twist can appear out of nowhere when she overhears a conversation between two strangers in a flower shop, their words like seeds sprouting in her mind. Even just catching someone's gaze—perhaps the mysterious stare of a traveller—is enough for Josie to string together three chapters in her imagination, complete with dialogue and intrigue.
She can write anywhere. On the porch of her house while listening to the birds chirping, on a park bench with the wind caressing the pages of her notebook, or in the hustle and bustle of the Bluebill market surrounded by the aroma of spices and haggling. As long as she had a pen, a notebook, and a little drama unfolding before her eyes, ideas would flow like a river that never ran dry.
Ed Harrington, the owner of the bookshop where Josie often camps out, once said, "She's the only customer who can sit for hours without buying anything, but goes home with three new characters and a sketch of a kissing scene in her head."
Behind her innocent face, with soft jawlines and calm eyes like a princess in a classic novel, Josie's mind is a vast ocean. When inspiration struck, she changed as quickly as a whirlwind, ready to capture every second of magic to pour into words.
In Bluebill, Josie's name as a local writer was already well known. So no one thought it strange when the young girl camped in front of Ed Harrington's bookshop for the past week. People passing by merely glanced at her, some smiling knowingly, as if they could hear the wheels of her imagination turning. Taunts? None. In fact, people would often stop, nod at her, and say jokingly, "Oh, will the next handsome man be born from your writing?"
One week! Just imagine, for a whole week she had been camping in front of Ed's bookshop to monitor her source of inspiration—who, fortunately, had been visiting the garrison, which happened to be quite close to The Blue Quill, for the past week.
Who was she waiting for? Major General Raymond, of course.
She carefully recorded every detail about him. The way he walked, tall and in control. His voice was low and deep. His expression, though often flat, held small pauses like fine wrinkles on his forehead.
Josie caught it all. The small details that people often overlooked. From the movement of his hands clasping his gloves when he thought. The way his eyes narrowed slightly when assessing his conversation partner. Even the moment when the corners of his lips moved slightly—not enough to be called a smile, but enough to make Josie's world stop for a moment. She watched it all with the precision of a writer. No movement escaped her eyes, no gesture was too trivial to be ignored. Every detail, no matter how small, was fuel for her imagination.
"Finally!"
"Oh, are you done?" asked Ed, who had just reappeared after disappearing into the bookshop a while ago.
Josie nodded, her gaze still fixed on the notebook on the table. "Yup! I got what I wanted." The corners of her lips curved into a small smile that hinted at the triumph of a writer who had just captured the essence of her character.
"Cool!" Ed smiled broadly, then leaned forward and lowered his voice as much as possible, trying to make sure no one else could hear. "So, you're not going to 'observe' him anymore, right? Because for whatever reason, Jo, I'm worried you'll get arrested for stalking the General!"
Josie chuckled, waving away Ed's concerns. "One week is enough, I think it's time for me to go back to my world." Her small laugh echoed in the air, unaware that in a few hours her world would take a turn she never imagined. "Besides, there's no need to worry about that. You know who's always watching over me, right? As long as Leon is behind me, no one will dare touch me."
Yes, of course, Leon Everhart was always reliable. That name alone was enough to make anyone think twice. But her opponent now was a Major General and the son of Duke Raymond. Wasn't the girl thinking about that? Or maybe she didn't know anymore.
"Leon is extraordinary—I mean, who wouldn't be afraid of his cold, sharp gaze?" Ed was only big in stature, but his heart was as soft as a teddy bear. He never dared to look Leon in the eye for more than three seconds. "But, Jo, seriously. Are you sure you're okay? I think the man you're watching knows you're following him."
"I'm fine, Ed. Even better than a few weeks ago."
Ed smiled thinly, not fully reflecting Josie's enthusiasm. Since yesterday, a bad feeling had been gnawing at his mind. Maybe it was because he had caught the General's gaze occasionally glancing at Josie while she was busy scribbling in her notebook at the front desk of The Blue Quill. Or perhaps it was because several burly guards with military badges on their uniforms had suddenly appeared in his bookshop, asking questions that felt too specific. Ed had warned Josie repeatedly, but she had simply dismissed him with a light laugh and told him to stop worrying.
Nevertheless, the worry lingered in Ed's mind, like a shadow that refused to go away. Seeing Josie start to pack up her notebook and slip her pen into her pocket, he tried once more. "Jo, be careful, okay? If you want, wait a minute, I'll close the shop and take you home."
Josie chuckled, shaking her head so that her hair swayed. "Ed, you're too anxious. I'm fine!" She swung her shoulder bag over her shoulder and waved cheerfully. "Bye, Ed! Stop imagining strange things, you'll give yourself a headache!"
Before Ed could reply, Josie had already walked away. Her steps were light, as if the Bluebill pavement was her own personal stage. Ed could only stand silently, his hands gripping the edge of the wooden table, his heart now filled with an inexplicable fear—a feeling that only arises when someone cares too much but is powerless to protect. Josie's figure grew smaller in the distance, melting into the afternoon crowd, until she finally disappeared from view.
Meanwhile, Josie walked home with a light heart. Her joy was so great that she was unaware of anything but the world in her head. Her feet danced along the pavement, following the rhythm of the song that often played on the old radio in the dining room every night. The song was not anyone's favourite in the house, but for Josie, its melody was like magic that turned lonely nights into new adventures in her imagination. Occasionally, her head swayed gently from side to side, following the melody that only she could hear. Her fingers, clutching the strap of her shoulder bag, danced lightly in the air, as if she were conducting an invisible orchestra.
"Captain Valrick must love singing war songs in his room when he's alone." Josie smiled to herself, lost in her imagination, unaware of a pair of eyes watching her from the shadows of a narrow alley in the distance.
The street she was walking down was quiet, with only one or two shops still open, the fading sunlight dancing slowly on the pavement. This wasn't the main route to her house, but Josie had walked it so many times that she felt no fear in her heart. Not yet, at least. Until suddenly her foot tripped over something on the ground, perhaps a tree root or a rock, causing her body to stagger slightly and her shoulder bag to slip from her shoulder. Before she could regain her balance, a hand—rough and quick—grabbed her from behind, clutching her arm tightly.
"Eh—!?"
Josie turned with her heart pounding. Before she could react, the two figures moved quickly in unison. And before a scream could escape her lips, a wet cloth was pressed against her face. The pungent chemical smell stung her nose, making her head spin.
What was this? Who were they? Her mind raced, but a fog began to cloud her consciousness. The street she had always considered a peaceful alleyway now turned into a dark abyss. Then, in a matter of seconds, her feet no longer touched the pavement.
Josie Everhart, the young writer, had vanished from Bluebill Street.