writer’s block ; red string of fate.
- in which romance novel writer czarine winter has no idea how to write another romance prompt until she caught a thread dangling on her finger.
( in lowercase! )
--
typing. backspace. typing again. backspace again. the tapping of her fingers across the ultra-thin laptop she got as a gift, and the sound of lo-fi music from her speakers was what she’s heard all afternoon. as leaving on a jet plane played for the umpteenth time, the brunette placed her head on her desk. she was fond of writing angsty romance novels whose plots always end up as too realistic to be true-- given her experience in relationships, it doesn’t always end in happily ever afters.
she frustratingly stares at her bright screen, cheek resting in the wooden surface of her desk, trying to squeeze out anything that could end up as happily ever afters. she wasn’t one to become bitter about lovey-dovey couples of some sort, but more like she’s applying the reality that not every relationship is perfect. she sighs again. writing happy endings weren’t her thing, but she took upon it as a challenge to do so.
“how could i even write something nice that doesn’t make it end up with one of the main characters dying?” has been a ringing thought in her head. rubbing her hands and feeling a string-- a string. she kept on looking at her pinky finger. “i’m not wearing red.” she mutters. “where is this from?” she was wearing a blue oversized hoodie, not even her undergarments are red-- she barely had red articles of clothing, but how-- and why-- is this piece of thread on her finger? “i must be sleepy.” she mutters, checking the time. 5am. great, it’s past bedtime.
the brunette hears a familiar engine on her driveway, signalling the arrival of someone in the front of her house. she murmurs something incomprehensive, before moving her feet to downstairs, meeting the person with the honey smile and crescent moons for eyes. “hey. did you just wake up?” his soothing voice spoke, well enough for her to finally yawn in sleepiness. “no,” she replies, “i haven’t slept a wink yet.”
“i kind of expected that. i brought you breakfast, but first you’ll have to sleep.”
she just nods in response, backhugging him. “yes. please lead the way. i want cuddles.”
it was a quiet dawn, but both are not aware that they’re interconnected with the red string firmly, not letting go.