Lines of Fate

Lyra was a small town with restless shadows. The kind of place where secrets whispered behind cracked curtains, and the wind carried voices no one wanted to hear.

Saige lived in a weathered old house with walls so thin she could hear everything—every muffled argument, every stifled sob, every silent scream. She was a ghost in her own life, a quiet girl forgotten by teachers, classmates, even her parents.

She used to have a best friend, Natalia. They dreamed together beneath the ancient oak tree about a city alive with laughter and light. But Natalia disappeared—moved away in the night without a word. Since then, Saige’s world had grown colder, her silence growing louder.

Her parents, weary and distant, often said, “You’re too quiet, Saige.”
“Make your destiny.”

But how? How do you make a destiny when every step feels like tracing lines in a sketchbook you can’t erase? Saige felt like a puppet, her life drawn by a hand she couldn’t see. The house groaned with secrets. At night, Saige heard the creaking from the attic. Weeks of faint whispers—wood shifting, maybe. Or something else.

One night, after another explosion of anger downstairs, she couldn’t block it out anymore. Heart pounding, she crept up the narrow stairs and pushed open the heavy attic door.

Dust hung in the air like a fog. In the corner stood an old chest, locked tight. Her fingers trembled as she pried it open.

Inside lay a golden quill, shimmering with an otherworldly light, resting on brittle pages yellowed with age.

A voice, barely a whisper, drifted through the shadows:
“Saige…”

She reached out and touched the quill. Sparks burst forth, dancing like fireflies trapped in the dark.

“Draw wisely,” the voice said. “Each line seals a new destiny.” Saige hesitated, then sketched herself—the pale, quiet girl with chestnut hair. But this time, something was different.

The next day, Aria, a girl who had always ignored her, smiled and waved. Then others noticed her. Compliments followed. For once, she felt seen.

But the quill’s power came with a sinister edge.

She drew a new job for her mother, who had struggled for years. A week later, it happened. But when her mother smiled, it didn’t reach her eyes. A shadow lurked beneath the surface.

Her parents’ fights diminished, but the silence between them grew heavy, suffocating. Years passed. Saige rose to the top of her class, moved to the city, and became a museum curator. The quill was tucked away, forgotten — or so she thought.

Then, Jasper.

They met by accident in a florist’s shop—his books tumbled, crushing her flowers.

“Sorry, my books are always trying to escape,” he said, laughing.

Their connection was instant, magnetic. Jasper was different—genuine, kind, with dreams of opening a bookstore.

But then Isabella appeared—Jasper’s girlfriend.

Saige’s fragile hope was shattered. Desperate, Saige took the quill again. She drew herself beside Jasper, with a shadowy figure named Matteo at her side—someone to guard her, to protect her desires.

The next day, Isabella left.

Saige and Jasper’s relationship blossomed. They married. Life was perfect—or so it seemed. Everything was perfect. until one evening, Jasper found the quill glowing on the kitchen table.

“Why is this glowing?” he asked.

Saige didnt want to lie to jasper but there was no way he would believe her. she told him anyway. “its a magic quill, whatever i draw with it comes true.” she confessed “i…i used it to make isabella go away,” she could feel her throat swallowing itself. she never realised how wrong this was until now. Jasper laughed. “Very funny”, he said “Now, tell me what this actually is”, he added. “I'm not lying, I'll prove it” She took out a piece of paper and drew a hundred-dollar bill laying on the ground. the world shifted a little and once jasper moved his foot, there was, in fact a note. his face turned red. “You can’t control fate,” Jasper said bitterly. “If we were meant to be, it would have happened without magic.”

He left.

Saige was alone again. It all happened so quickly. She felt a wave of regret. all those drawings she made. She took them out of a box where she safely stored every drawing she created, desperate to undo the damage. But the quill pulsed with life in her hands, as if mocking her.

Suddenly, everything twisted.

She was back in Lyra’s market, clutching roses—trapped in a loop she couldn’t escape. suddenly, someone bumped into her, she fell down and the roses fell with her.

“Sorry, my books are always trying to escape,” a familiar voice said.

Jasper stood before her—but his eyes held something dark, something not human. The world shattered. The market dissolved into a sterile white room lined with mirrors reflecting infinite versions of Saige—each more fractured than the last.

A cold, mechanical voice echoed:

“You have completed the simulation.”

Saige’s knees buckled.

Simulation?

Behind one mirror, she saw another self—the cold, cruel Saige clutching the glowing quill, eyes empty and lifeless.

A screen flickered to life, showing a technician’s face.

“Lyra is a constructed environment—a test bed. The quill controls the variables. Your memories, your friends—they are AI constructs, programmed to observe emotional responses. Your parents, your best friend, even Jasper—they were never real.” Saige screamed silently inside.

Her entire life—fabricated. The love, the pain, the magic—all algorithms and code. Not even her parents were real

The quill was no tool of fate but a control device.

“You were never free. Your choices were simulations. The quill lets us test the illusion of choice.”

A message flashed:

“Draw wisely. Each line seals a destiny. But who holds the quill?” Saige’s mind spiraled.

If her life was scripted, was she even real? Or just another character in a cosmic story written by a cruel author?

And if someone else held the quill, what did that mean for free will?

She looked down. The quill pulsed in her hand—not just code, but something alive. Something watching.

The mirrors around her cracked, reflections multiplying, fracturing her identity.

Her whispered plea echoed through the sterile chamber:

“Let me choose.”

But the voice responded:

“Choice is the greatest illusion of all.”

and somewhere, far beyond the glass walls and endless mirrors, the quill waits. waiting for the next hand to grasp it, to draw the next life.