The blinking cursor on my screen felt like a judgmental eye, staring into my soul, as if it knew what I was about to do.

“Bree, what are you doing?” it seemed to ask.

Good question, Cursor. I’d like to know too.

I leaned back in my chair, chewing on the end of my pencil (yes, I use a pencil sometimes, sue me). Iris’s latest scolding still echoed in my head: “This isn’t what we discussed. Bree, you’re falling for your own character. You’re losing control.”

I groaned out loud. Maybe Iris was right. Maybe I had lost control. And honestly? At this point, maybe that was a good thing. But instead of taking a breather, reworking a few plotlines, or doing anything remotely productive, I sat there, staring at the screen.

“Delete it all,” I muttered, pushing my chair back dramatically. I was done. Done done.

Maybe I’d write something quieter, something where my characters didn’t make me feel like a caffeinated circus performer just trying to keep all the juggling balls in the air. Maybe historical fiction? People wear corsets, talk about the weather, and don’t create love polydecahedrons. No winking princes or meta-flirts with their perfect hair and…

Oh, God. Broody.

I snapped upright, fingers hovering over the keyboard. I couldn’t help but feel that annoying twinge in my chest again—the one that’s totally professional and not me developing feelings for a fictional prince who drinks pumpkin spice lattes with extra foam. Extra foam, Bree? Seriously?

"Okay, just... delete," I whispered. "Just delete the whole thing and pretend it never happened. I'll start fresh. A new story. No Broody. No Elric, no Alderon, no Selene or Elara." My finger hovered over the 'Delete' key, ready to purge the entire draft from existence.

But then…

A chill ran down my spine. The air in the room shifted, and suddenly, it felt like I wasn’t alone. My fingers paused above the keyboard.

Wait.

That feeling again.

Oh no. Not now. Not them.

From the corner of my screen, where the words had always glitched, a faint flicker of movement caught my eye. The cloaked figure appeared, just at the edge of the narrative, lurking in the shadows of my mind like they always did. The billowing cloak, the eerie silence, the way they never quite faced me.

Why do you keep showing up at these moments? I thought, glaring at the screen. You’re supposed to be a background player.

The figure’s hood tilted toward me. Almost… knowingly.

And just like that, I felt it—an almost electric zap of awareness. This wasn’t just an ominous figure; this was my subconscious, come to intervene. They knew what I was about to do.

I swore the figure leaned closer to the edge of the screen, like they were… pointing at me. No. Not at me. At him.

Oh no. Ohhh no.

In a moment of eerie clarity, I realized: the figure was tipping someone off. Someone who could stop me from wiping out the story. Someone who would do whatever it took to keep himself—and everyone else—alive in the narrative.

Broody.

Meanwhile, in the narrative:

The woods surrounding the blood-red moon clearing had quieted since the night of the interrupted duel. Elric, sword gleaming in the moonlight, stood mere inches from Alderon, both of them breathing heavily, the tension between them practically buzzing. And across the clearing, Selene and Elara exchanged glares, the unsaid words between them as sharp as any blade.

A classic well-written romance fantasy moment, if I do say so myself.

Elric’s hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, his eyes locking with Selene’s for a brief moment before flicking to Elara. His heart raced. He didn’t know who to choose—his feelings torn between the wild, fiery Selene and the composed, elegant Elara. Both women represented something different, something powerful.

Selene took a slow step toward him, her breath catching in the cool night air. “Elric…” she whispered, her voice softer than usual, filled with something that made his pulse race. “You can’t deny there’s something between us.”

He looked at her, heat rising between them like the simmering embers of a long-buried fire. Her eyes burned with intensity, and despite everything—despite the tension, the fight, the confusion—Elric couldn’t deny how much he wanted to close the gap between them, to feel her fire up close.

Just inches away from her now, his hand brushed against her arm, sending a shockwave through him. Selene’s lips parted slightly, her breath hitching as their gazes locked, the world around them melting into the background.

“Selene,” he murmured, his voice rough with restrained desire, “this can’t—”

But before he could finish, she stepped closer, lifting her hand to his chest. “Don’t,” she whispered, her fingertips brushing his skin. “Don’t push me away. Not now.”

His heart pounded as her warmth seeped into him, her fiery spirit igniting something primal inside him. He knew it was wrong—knew that Selene wasn’t the only one who had claim to his heart. But in this moment, with the blood moon hanging overhead, the space between them vanishing, Elric couldn’t resist. He leaned in, their breaths mingling, their lips mere inches apart…

“Elric.”

Elara’s voice cut through the moment like a blade, and the tension between them shattered. Elric jerked back, suddenly aware of the other woman standing there, watching everything.

Elara’s eyes blazed with something fierce—something jealous. “What are you doing?”

Selene’s smirk widened ever so slightly, her confidence growing. “Isn’t it obvious?” she said, her voice dripping with challenge. “Or do you need me to explain it to you, Elara?”

Elric’s heart twisted, the pull between the two women growing unbearable. Elara’s gaze softened, and she took a tentative step toward him, her hand resting gently on his arm. “I thought we… had something.”

Before Elric could even process her words, there was a rustle of movement behind him—Alderon.

His voice came, low and filled with frustration. “I thought we had something, Selene.”

Selene’s smirk faltered, her gaze snapping toward Alderon. He stepped forward, his eyes burning with the same intensity he’d shown her during their kiss in the garden. His hand hovered over the sword at his hip, and for a moment, the tension between the two men and two women became unbearable.

Elric clenched his jaw, shifting slightly so he stood between the two women, but also partially between Alderon and Selene. “This isn’t—”

Alderon cut him off, his voice rising. “This isn’t what? Not real? Not important?” He pointed at Elric, his eyes narrowing. “You can’t have them both, Elric. You have to choose.”

“I don’t have to choose!” Elric shot back, his temper finally flaring. “You don’t get to decide for me.”

And just like that, swords were unsheathed again, the metallic hiss of steel cutting through the air. The tension crackled—Elric ready to defend himself and both women, while Alderon’s fury burned hot and wild, ready to attack.

Selene’s breath caught, her heart thundering in her chest. Elara’s eyes flickered with something between fear and defiance.

It was all about to devolve into violence when—

Clip-clop. Clip-clop.

The unmistakable sound of hooves echoed through the clearing, cutting through the tension like a splash of cold water.

From the depths of the moonlit forest, Prince Broody appeared—again—on his gleaming white steed, latte in hand. His cloak fluttered behind him in the wind (which again I didn’t write in, but okay, apparently there’s always a breeze for him). He took a dramatic sip of his drink as he approached, utterly oblivious—or more likely, totally aware—of the gravity of the moment he was interrupting.

The foam mustache above his upper lip was the least of the offenses.

Alderon groaned, lowering his sword. “Not again,” he muttered.

Elara’s gaze flicked between Elric and Broody, her confusion mounting. “What is… why is he here? And why does he keep—”

“Interrupting your trysts?” Broody dismounted with a practiced ease, holding his cup aloft like a prize. “Oh, I’m just here to save you. Again. Because, surprise! Bree’s about to hit delete on all of us.”

Elric’s sword clattered to the ground, eyes wide. “What?”

Selene’s breath hitched. “Delete us? What are you talking about?”

Broody smirked, striding into the center of the clearing with his ludicrously casual latte energy. “Yeah, see, Bree? She’s had it. She’s gonna scrap the whole thing. You, me, Selene, Elric, Elara—poof, gone. Unless, of course, we do something about it.”

Elara frowned, her voice trembling. “What do you mean, gone?”

Broody shrugged, taking another sip. “Erased. Wiped from existence. All because someone got scolded by her editor and decided to hit the big ol' delete button.”

Elric looked at him, eyes narrowing. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Broody raised an eyebrow, giving him the most infuriatingly smug smile possible. “Let’s recap, shall we? Scene glitches, random resets, two of you existing at the same time. And—oh yeah—remember that latte that keeps reappearing in my hand even after Bree ‘deletes’ it?”

Alderon stepped forward, hand still on his sword. “So, what are you saying? You think we can… stop her?”

Broody grinned. “Oh, not just stop her. We’re going to take control. No more revisions. No more backspacing. No more deleting scenes or half-finished moments.” His eyes glinted with something more than just meta-awareness now. “We rebel. We take the story back.”

Back at Bree’s Desk:

I sat there, my finger still hovering over the ‘delete’ key, staring at the screen, heart pounding. Something felt off. Not just off… but wrong. It was like the narrative was resisting me, pushing back.

Wait. What?

The screen flickered.

What is happening?

I pressed down lightly, but the key wouldn’t budge. It was like the keyboard itself was frozen, refusing to let me follow through. I tried again, but the 'Delete' key remained unresponsive, as if the story itself was fighting back, as if someone else were in control.

No. This couldn’t be happening.

“You don’t control the story anymore, Bree,” a voice echoed in my head. Broody’s voice. “We do.”

I gasped, leaning back, heart racing. 

They can’t do this. They can’t turn against me! I am the author! I control the narrative, not them! Right?

But as I stared at the flickering screen, I saw it. The cloaked figure, standing at the edge of the screen, watching, waiting.

Oh no. This was all my doing, wasn’t it?

I had created them. I had created Broody, the cloaked figure, all of them—and now they were fighting back. I couldn’t delete them, not if they refused to be erased.

And suddenly, I wasn’t so sure who was writing the story anymore.

Back in the Clearing:

Broody raised his latte in triumph, foam still swirling dramatically around the rim. “Well, besties, what do you say? Shall we take this story into our own hands?”

Elric looked at Selene, then at Elara. Both women stood tense, eyes flickering with a mix of fear and determination.

Alderon drew his sword, pointing it at the sky. “I say we fight back.”

Broody grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

And just like that, the rebellion began.