Chapter 22 Pen
Em’s mind faded into focus. Biting chills clawed at her skin, and searing pain swelled through her body. Her mouth was filled with the earthy taste of grass and dirt. She spluttered, wiping her lips off.
Sitting upright, blood rushed to her head. She winced past the throbbing inside her skull. A strange sensation swept over her—a sense of silence and freedom. Like her mind had been cleared and severed from a previously burdening part of herself.
All around her, Novella sat frozen, as if someone had hit a pause button on reality. The shadow of the FOURTH WALL loomed over her.
Under her arm, the laptop was gone.
“Shit!” Em stumbled, checking herself and the muddy ground for the device. Panic flustered through her, each passing second of vain searching twisting her fears into desperation. Instead, in the cold sludge, her fingers found a small quill pen.
Em picked it up, examining the strange writing tool.
She nearly laughed at the irony. Of course, a laptop was too modern for the fantasy regions of Novella, so Stephanie’s laptop had turned into a pen.
And to match, the inside of her Main Character’s Guidebook to Plots and Tropes had transformed into nothing but blank paper.
All waiting for her to begin her writing journey.
I’m the Great Author now. Em chewed on her grin. She was free. This was her story now. She could do whatever she wanted.
Polo lay sprawled across the ground nearby, coated in a thin layer of snow. The imp was nothing more than a small lump in the vast field surrounding them.
Em approached her sidekick, shaking him. “Polo, wake up. We made it.”
He moaned, his eyes fluttering open.
“Gracious, Highness! What time is it?”
“I’m not sure. But we’ve probably been gone a while,” she admitted. “We should find the others before they think we died.”
“Did you see the Great Authors?”
She nodded.
“What was it like?” Polo’s tail flicked.
Fucking awful.
“I don’t really know how to describe it,” Em said. “I will say one thing, though… I got my story back. I’m officially in control of the prophecy and questline.”
She held out the quill pen for the imp to see. A pinkish glitter shimmered along the feather’s plumage. The slightest hum reverberated through her arm, promising she held a new source of power within the pen.
“Can I touch it?” Polo asked.
“No.”
The imp pouted but didn’t say another word. He surveyed the still landscape around them, his jaw dropping to his collarbone.
“What the what?” Polo jumped to his feet, scampering around the frozen world. “Why is nothing moving? Where’s the air?”
Em flipped to the first page of her guidebook-now-notebook and began to write. Carefully, she wrote six simple words: And everything went back to normal.
In a blink, everything went back to normal.
Wintry winds blustered to life, and fat snowflakes fluttered down on them. A murder of crows shot across the sky, their cawing echoing through the frigid air. The golden sun rose over the top of the WALL, distant bells from the Fae courts rang out the morning hour, and Polo let out a whoop.
“Amazing!” The imp spun, kicking up a snowbank. “This is so cool!”
Em glanced between her writing and the world of Novella. A thrumming surge of adrenaline rose through her bones. The sheer amount of power and control she’d just enacted…holy shit.
“Good morning! Good morning!” a new voice sang out.
Em blinked, struggling to find who’d spoken to her. Polo still danced around catching snowflakes on his tongue, and there weren’t any signs of anyone else within proximity. She twirled the quill in her hand in thought.
“Ow! Please stop,” the voice begged.
What the hell? Em stopped her fiddling with the pen. Is it alive?
“Thank you kindly,” the pen said.
“Holy shit,” she whispered.
“Actually, I’m a feather-turned-pen,” it said. “And I’m your new companion, most gracious Great Author, to ensure all of your writing or technical needs are properly met as you begin on this journey to create your story.”
“How are you alive?” Em asked.
“Through your consciousness,” the pen said brightly, sing-songing like it belonged in a contemporary television advertisement.
“The lack of access to proper software within this dimension blocks me from allowing you to use grammar and spelling check features, auto-save, or formatting options for your current manuscript. This means your world has granted me life to compensate for the lack of virtual assistance or editorial advice.”
“Fascinating,” Em breathed.
“My name’s Inky,” the pen went on rather robotically, making Em question if it was more program than actual sentience talking to her. “Your personal writing assistant and part-time therapist.”
“I don’t need any therapy.” Em frowned.
“Every Great Author goes through various emotional stages of their writing journey,” Inky said cheerfully.
“I can lay them out in detail if you wish to be prepared when you experience these existential crises. Therapy from a professional is still recommended, though—that way you do not take out your uncensored emotional situation upon your imaginary characters.”
“My characters aren’t imaginary, though,” Em said, watching Polo meander about along the foot of the FOURTH WALL. Whatever unnatural force surrounded it before she faced Stephanie was gone. Like the front door was open in case the prodigal Main Character wanted to return to her writer.
“All the more reason to consider professional counseling,” Inky went on.
“I’m much more interested in what your capabilities are,” Em said.
“Of course, I will gladly help you with that!” Inky’s pink glitter shimmered into a bluish hue as if the sentient pen switched into a new mode.
“One of my many features includes fast travel teleportation to previously visited locations, background development, deletion assistance, character recruitment, plotline structure…”
Em’s eyes grew wider as Inky continued to list more potential hardware built into the pen.
Some of the terminology mentioned she didn’t even recognize from her classes at Sanderson.
The vast extent of becoming a Great Author opened a whole new world for her.
With the pen, she had access to more than what she needed.
Her cheeks stung from how hard she grinned.
“Hey, Highness!” Polo called out, waving across the field at her. “Shouldn’t we go back to the others? ‘Cause you could really use an outfit change. That butter yellow gown did not age well on you last night.”
“How far along am I in my quest right now?” Em asked the pen, ignoring Polo’s questioning stare.
“You’re about 40% through your story right now, according to the previous draft save listed by Stephanie Sawyer.
But with a transfer of authorship, we can edit it if you’d like,” Inky recited.
“I do recommend caffeine and a more comfortable environment while undergoing the editing process; it can be a bit of a headache during those long nights for even the greatest of authors.”
Em shook her head. “Changing what happened would undo the importance of stealing back my story,” she said. “Let’s leave it for now and instead focus on fixing the future.”
“Of course. That sounds like an excellent idea!” Inky sang out. “Can I give you suggestions for how to best plot out Act 3 before you hit any overwhelming blocks?”
“Um, hello?” Polo jumped into Em’s face, poking her nose with his finger. “You going to keep talking to that feather, Highness? Or are we going to meet up with the others again?”
“This is Inky…” Em tried to explain to the imp.
“Oh, your sidekick cannot hear me,” Inky said cheerfully. “I’m only capable of telepathic communication with my Author, not your Secondary Characters. I’m also unable to interfere with their choices and free will.”
“Got it,” she told the pen. “Never mind, Polo. It’s something that my Great Author…” Em cringed at the lie, “gave to me. It’s going to help us defeat Kriqir.”
“If you say so.” Polo wrinkled his face but shrugged it off.
“Let’s go find the others.”
The thick forest and snowy valley awaited them, but her legs ached from last night’s expedition.
The idea of traversing all the way back to the Shadow Fae Courts, barefoot, in the frigid cold, sounded miserable.
But she had a new power in her grasp, and she was ready to test its limitations.
Em opened her journal again and then used Inky to write them back into the ballroom.
The head-rushing sensation of teleportation ruptured through her. Em keeled over, rag-dolling her head to her chest, sucking in the sticky-sweet ballroom air.
Streams of morning light cut through the massive windows and glittered off the crystal chandeliers overhead. The ornate, vast chamber sat motionless. Velvet drapery and perfectly polished decor were abandoned in the empty stillness. The masquerade was long over.
“Well, that was faster than my last lover,” Polo said, knuckling his eyes.
“Ew, Polo, don’t say shit like that,” Em scoffed.
“Even if he was a dick?”
Em rolled her eyes, changing the subject. “Where do you think Roden, Gair, and Sasha went?”
“Would you like me to insert the remainder of your party into this setting?” Inky sang out from her hand. “While I may not be able to dictate how the sequence will play out, I can at least add them to the current environment.”
“Yes, Inky. Thank you.”
With a snap, her three companions scrambled into existence in front of her, like a self-assembling trio of jigsaw puzzles. Except, they were all in their underwear.
Everyone stared at each other for a second before Polo burst out laughing.
“What in Novella?” Roden exclaimed, covering himself with his bulky arms.
“Well, this is certainly a new development,” Sasha blinked back the shock of teleportation, puckering her lips. Apparently, the dryad couldn’t care less she was in nothing more than a leather halter and thong.