1001 Dark Tales

A pair of arms wrapped around me, and I instantly settled into the familiar embrace as both of us watched the sun set over our kingdom.

I couldn’t help the squeal of delight that escaped my mouth. I had finally completed my book, 1001 Dark Tales. The look on my editor’s face was one of disbelief when I announced I was stopping all other books to focus solely on that one. I guess writing 1001 Dark Tales takes a long time, four years to be exact. Still, I had written enough books with the help of my quill that I had more than a steady income.

I picked up the quill in question, twirling it around my fingers. The quill appeared to be a typical quill used by authors. Well, they don’t actually use them these days. Most use pens and pencils, which was fine, but I had always wanted to learn how to use a quill. So when I saw one that day in the bookstore I usually go to, I bought it. It was a set that came with its very own ink.

When I put it to the page to write my book, though I was instantly transported into the book I was about to write. I lived the character’s life until finally I reached the ends book and came back to an already written book. I was overjoyed; what writer wouldn’t wish for a quill that enables them to live inside their own books as their character and come out with the story done. There has been a downside though, and that’s the three men that keep following me into the book insisting I give them their quill back. It doesn’t really seem to matter to them. I bought it fair and square; they still saw it as there’s. Which is why I haven’t been using it ever since I started writing 1001 Dark Tales.

Yes, I could have written it quicker, but 1001 Dark Tales are dark romance tales. I’m not ashamed of anything I write, but I would rather not act out the scenes with three males who I don’t even know their names or what they look like. I push those thoughts away as I put the quill down and grabbed my other manuscripts, leafing through them. Each of them was only partly done and would benefit from using the quill on them. Before I could pull one out, though, I heard a knock at my door.

I spun towards the door, accidentally tipping over the ink bottle. I thought nothing of it; the ink had never spilled before. Even so, I decided to turn back and pick it up. Which is when I noticed that the ink had somehow spilled, and not only that, but it spilled right onto my finished manuscript, 1001 Dark Tales. I sat there staring for a second, completely forgetting about the knock on the door. Nothing happened, though, and relief instantly filled me.

Every other time as soon as ink had gotten onto the page, I would be transported into the book. However, this time nothing happened, which might be because I hadn’t used the quill since the ink just spilled. No longer frozen, I recalled the knock on the door and rose from my desk. I was about to take a step when suddenly my living room dissolved into inky blackness. An inky blackness that had only been in a couple of times when the three musketeers of assholes paused my story.

Which means I was in my book, 1001 Dark Tales. I instantly started praying that for once those three weren’t in the books with me. In the next second, I realized my prayers went unanswered when a familiar voice stated.

“It’s been such a long time; we were wondering if you’d completely forgotten about the quill and us.”

I bit back a sigh and put on my best smile as I turned around to face them. “Of course not. I’ve just been busy.”

All three of them were here, just staring at me from behind their masks. They had already seen my face multiple times by the time I figured out I could control what I looked like in the ink. So since they haven’t been able to find me by how I look, I decided it didn’t matter even if they somehow found my books in real life. I went under a pen name and didn’t show my face anywhere. It was one of the twins that had spoken, or at least I’m assuming they are twins. Whenever there were twins in my story, they would be those characters, so I just started calling them twins.

The one who spoke was the more outgoing twin. 

He snorted. “We assumed writing was your whole life.”

“It is.” I admitted, “I was writing… This book and I’ve already finished it, but I accidentally spilled some ink onto it. Since it’s already finished, we can just-.”

“Why didn’t you use the quill to write this book?”

Blinking, I stammered, “Uh, it’s a book containing 1001 Tales, and I didn’t want to spend that much time inside a book. Even I’m not that obsessed.”

It was not a complete lie that was another reason I didn’t want to use the quill on this book, but it wasn’t the complete truth either. He stared at me for a second as if he really didn’t believe me, but before he could call me out on it, the third one spoke up. 

“She’s right; if there weren’t multiple stories in this book, it would have pulled us straight into it. The only reason we’re in the ink is that we have to choose a story.”

“We don’t have to choose anything; these stories are already finished,” I stated quickly, a little too quickly. 

They all looked at me, waiting for an explanation, but I remained silent, unable to meet their gaze. Again, I am not ashamed of what I write. I just don’t want to act out my book with three men whom I don’t know, especially those scenes.