There was nothing but a blank, misty atmosphere, soft and luminous like a dream suspended in time. Thana stood in the center of an endless, heaven-like expanse, holding nothing but a single paintbrush in her hand. She stared at it, puzzled, until a strange impulse urged her to raise it. With no clear intention, she swiped the brush through the air as though she were painting on an invisible canvas.
She couldn't explain why she did it. It simply felt right. And when she saw what happened next, her breath caught in her throat.
With the stroke of the brush, color bloomed into the void. It was vivid and real, almost too real. Lush green grass, golden sunlight, and blossoms danced in an unseen breeze. She hadn't tried to imagine anything specific, yet the brush had painted exactly what lived somewhere in the back of her mind. A magical meadow that felt both unfamiliar and deeply nostalgic.
A place she didn't recognize, yet somehow remembered.
"Wow."
That was all she managed to whisper, too overwhelmed to say more. Everything around her fell into a peaceful stillness. The air grew quiet, and even her heartbeat seemed to slow as awe settled into her chest.
But the silence didn't last.
A familiar voice broke through it, filled with mischief and delight. "That's amazing! Do you love the gift I lent you?"
The moment she heard it, the warmth drained from her face. The light that had shone so gently on her disappeared, replaced by swirling shadows above her head. Her expression shifted from wonder to weariness, her shoulders tensing as she slowly turned around.
There he stood. The old man who had started all of this.
The same man who offered her that cursed tea.
The same one whose fairytale had unraveled her reality.
Thana gripped the paintbrush tighter. Her knuckles turned white as a sharp wave of fury surged through her. If she pressed any harder, the brush might have snapped in her hand. The thought that consumed her was violent and wild—she wanted to hurt him. If she was quick enough, maybe she could drive the brush straight into his eye. The paintbrush, she realized, was the only weapon she needed.
And so, she charged.
She ran at him with everything she had, through the mist and the magic, her face twisted in rage. Her footsteps echoed in the silence, and her voice was nothing but breathless determination.
But just before she could reach him, he raised his right hand, palm open.
Thana came to a slow, staggering halt. She looked around in confusion, her anger breaking into disbelief. The world hadn't changed. The distance between them remained exactly the same as when she started running. No matter how fast or far she had sprinted, she hadn't moved an inch closer to him.
It was as if she had never moved at all.
"What?" she shouted, her voice sharp with fury as her right eye twitched from a blend of confusion and burning frustration. Everything around her felt wrong. The air, the light, the endless white—none of it made sense. Something about this place reeked of suspicion. And though a persistent thought scratched at her mind like a warning, she tried to shrug it off.
But she couldn't help it. The words escaped her lips before she could stop them.
"Bloody hell, am I actually dead?"
She screeched, tugging madly at her short hair—which had somehow returned to normal after previously shifting into something strange and unfamiliar. The ground beneath her was nothing but a vast, white emptiness that seemed like a cloud yet was solid enough to stand on. Strangely, it reflected her image back at her, as if it were glass.
"I'm in heaven?" she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief.
Her question earned a loud scoff from the old man. He slapped the air dramatically, and his face contorted into something even more twisted than usual as he broke into a fit of laughter.
Thana shot him a glare sharp enough to slice through bone.
He tried to speak through his howling laughter, wiping imaginary tears from his cheeks. "Do you honestly believe the angels would let you step one foot through heaven's gates?"
"No. But I don't care," she snapped. "Because I'm dragging you to hell with me, you despicable old man."
Her jaw clenched, and her ears burned red with fury.
The old man raised his hands, gesturing for her to calm down, but Thana only bared her teeth like a feral lion, her breath ragged with rage. He scratched his head, fingers moving through his thin strands of aging white hair.
"You must have a lot of questions," he said gently, attempting a soothing tone.
"I don't want a heart-to-heart," Thana snarled. "I just want to stab your eyes out, old-timer."
The man winced, but only blinked before pressing on, undeterred by her threats.
"First of all, my name is Otto. The same Otto who wrote the book you're currently trapped in."
Thana narrowed her eyes, her expression blank with disbelief. "Well, that's a stupid name. And this is the worst joke I've ever heard."
Otto let out a light chuckle. "I know, I know. But that really is my name. And this situation is no joke. I'm an author, remember? You're inside a book now, Thana. And you're stuck until you complete your mission."
He paused before adding with a sly smile, "Actually, missions. Plural."
Thana stared at him, wide-eyed, as if he had just started speaking in riddles only the clinically insane could understand. She exhaled sharply and pushed her hair away from her face, releasing a hot breath as the weight of her choices sank in. What kind of madness had possessed her to walk into that cursed bookstore? Why had she spoken to this lunatic in the first place?
But as Thana glanced around at the endless white void, she still couldn't believe she was in a place like this. It was silent, soft, and far too serene for her liking. Her first conclusion was grim and almost logical—she really must be dead.
"Where am I right now?" she asked, eyes narrowing at Otto, who hadn't once taken his gaze off her. The crooked smile he'd worn since the beginning faded slightly at her question.
"This place is called the Limbo," he replied evenly. "Peaceful, isn't it? But we can't linger here for long. I only brought you here to explain—briefly—your mission in the new world you've entered."
Thana groaned, clearly fed up. "Again with this mission. Again with this so-called new world. What in bloody hell are you even talking about? Limbo? You really are mad."
Otto opened his mouth to speak, but she raised a hand to cut him off.
"You know what? I don't even know why I ended up in the middle of that forest. But fine. I'll forgive you for that—somewhat. Just send me back. I want to go home. Right now."
She stepped forward, hands lifted in warning, her voice sharp and full of frustration. "You have no idea what I've been through. Was it entertaining to you, putting me through all that misery in the forest? I don't know what you are—a god or something worse—but this is enough. I've already had a lifetime of bad luck, and I refuse to play along with this ridiculous game. Send. Me. Back."
Her words echoed into the silence. And though she'd poured out a chunk of her frustration, it didn't bring her the satisfaction she expected. She still felt heavy and exhausted, both in body and spirit. For now, she needed to pause—to rest her tongue and catch her breath.
Otto stood quietly, the silence hanging like mist between them. He waited a few more seconds, just to be sure she wouldn't interrupt again.
Then he cleared his throat and said with a gentle, almost pitying smile, "Thana, you can't go back to your world."
Her eyes widened in shock. "And why is that?"
He looked at her squarely and answered without hesitation.
"Because you're already dead."