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... the sheets which usually kept him warm were so cold that he was shivering.


“My daughter. Dad is sorry. Dad is sorry you left first. Dad is sorry for not believing you were my daughter.”


Sovieshu staggered over to the paintings. He took both of them down, placing his precious paintings side by side on the floor. He opened his arms, embracing Navier’s painting with one arm and Glorym’s with the other.


He could feel warmth through the paintings. In his mind, the ...

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What does it feel like to find yourself inside the novel of an author you hated? How will you survive in a world that's filled with cliché? Well, something similar happened here.

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