Chapter 2
I Was Kidnapped by a Fan (2)
I grabbed my head with the hand holding the pen and let out a groan.
Mary walked over beside me and asked worriedly,
“Is it not going well?”
“No… I thought I’d be able to write today…”
As I muttered with a deep sigh, Mary looked at me with sympathy.
There was actually one more reason I had decided to move out besides the one I mentioned before.
It was because of this terrible writer’s block.
Right now, I was supposed to be writing the middle-to-late part of my novel—the section where a brand-new arc began.
I knew such an important part would take longer to write.
But I never imagined I wouldn’t be able to write anything at all.
I had even moved out on purpose to overcome my writer’s block.
Thinking about my parents suddenly made me feel embarrassed.
After staring silently at the blank paper for a while, I finally put the pen down.
“I’ll probably be fine tomorrow.”
“Yes. I’m sure you’ll be able to write tomorrow.”
Mary and I looked at each other with eyes full of confidence.
✑ ✑ ✑
But that turned out to be a huge misunderstanding.
The next day came, and then the day after that.
Nothing came to mind.
I even forced myself to scribble down a few lines, but I hated every single one of them.
Those days repeated themselves for an entire month.
“What in the world is wrong with me?!”
I sat in front of the pure white sheet of paper in despair.
No matter how bad the writer’s block was, not being able to write even a single word was simply too much.
I couldn’t even pick up the pen anymore and could only sigh over and over.
Just then, Mary placed a cup of tea in front of me.
I stared blankly at the tea before quietly asking,
“Don’t tell me… I’ll never be able to write again?”
“I’m sure that’s not true. Think of it as only a temporary slump. Before long, the words will start flowing again.”
Mary tried to comfort me, but the anxiety in my heart refused to disappear.
A life where I couldn’t write.
For someone who had lived only for writing, it was a terrifying thought.
I hurried over to the bookshelf and pulled out a book I had recently bought titled How to Overcome Writer’s Block.
After reading a few pages seriously, I softly read aloud a sentence that seemed to offer a solution.
“Sometimes, it helps to spend some time away from the very thing causing your writer’s block…”
Even though I had bought the book myself, the advice sounded suspicious.
Shouldn’t I face the problem head-on instead of running away from it?
But after thinking about it for a while, I changed my mind.
It was hard to imagine it working, but if so many people had overcome their slumps that way, there had to be a reason.
“Alright. I’ve decided.”
Still feeling doubtful, I snapped the book shut.
Then I turned toward Mary with a determined expression.
“I’m going to stay away from writing for a while.”
“Will you really be alright?”
Mary asked with concern.
I felt the same uncertainty, but I forced a smile.
“I’ll be fine. It’s not like anything bad will happen just because I don’t write for a few days.”
I said that, but I was already sighing.
A life without writing.
Just thinking about it sounded unbearably boring.
“I should send a letter to the publisher first…”
The deadline for my manuscript was approaching.
Instead of writing my novel, I sat at my desk and began writing a letter to the publishing company.
The more I wrote, the heavier my heart became.
My editor would surely tell me it was alright and extend the deadline.
But I wasn’t alright.
How long would this continue?
That day, I sent the letter to the publisher with a gloomy expression.
As time passed, my writer’s block only grew worse.
Then the day arrived when my book should have been published.
At the time…
I had no idea.
I never imagined that something terrible would happen just because I stopped writing.
✑ ✑ ✑
Today, I was once again sitting leisurely at the dining table.
At least, that’s how it looked from the outside.
Inside, my thoughts about writing were burning me alive.
On the day my book had originally been scheduled for release, the publisher had sent letters to every bookstore.
The letter explained that the author would be taking a short break in order to improve the quality of the next volume.
After hearing the news, readers sent countless letters to the publisher.
Many wished me well.
Some said they hoped I was healthy.
Others said they would patiently wait for the next volume.
But among those kind letters were a few accusing me of being irresponsible.
Reading them filled me with anxiety.
I only felt sorry toward my readers.
And I hated myself for being unable to do anything.
Just thinking about writing made me lose my appetite.
I put the piece of bread in my hand back onto the table and sighed.
“Miss, please eat a little more.”
“Sorry. I just don’t have an appetite.”
Mary had gone through the trouble of preparing the meal, yet all I could do was give her an apologetic smile.
Then my eyes drifted toward my desk.
A single blank sheet of paper rested on top of it.
Would I spend another several hours today staring at that empty page?
Just thinking about it made eating impossible.
Mary watched me worriedly before suddenly smiling.
“Miss, would you like to go for a walk today?”
“A walk?”
“Yes. Some fresh air might help clear your mind. You might even get an idea for your story.”
Honestly, I wanted to refuse.
I wasn’t in the mood for a walk at all.
But when I saw the hopeful look in Mary’s eyes, the words wouldn’t come out.
In the end, I smiled faintly and nodded.
“Alright. Let’s go.”
“Yes! I’ll get everything ready.”
Mary happily hurried off to prepare for our outing.
Watching her from behind, I couldn’t help feeling guilty.
Originally, I was supposed to be the only one living in this house.
But my parents had firmly declared that I absolutely couldn’t live alone.
So my personal maid, Mary, had come with me.
She probably would have lived much more comfortably if she had stayed at the mansion.
That was why I always felt both sorry and grateful toward her.
So while she helped me get dressed, I quietly said,
“Thank you, Mary.”
“But I haven’t even finished helping you get ready yet.”
“I mean… thank you for everything.”
Mary’s hand, which had been gently patting powder onto my face, stopped.
Then she smiled shyly.
“I’m only doing what I want to do.”
The two of us smiled at each other before finishing our preparations.
As soon as we stepped outside, warm sunlight shone across my face.
“The weather’s really nice today.”
“It is. The breeze feels wonderful too.”
I took a deep breath.
The fresh outdoor air seemed to clear my mind.
“I’ve got a good feeling about today.”
A smile finally appeared on my face as I walked.
Looking up at the blue sky made it feel as though my heart was being cleansed.
I slipped my hand into my skirt pocket and lightly touched the small notebook inside.
I always carried it with me in case inspiration suddenly struck.
Hopefully, I’ll finally have a reason to use it.
The thought crossed my mind before I quickly shook my head.
No, no.
Today I’m not supposed to think about writing.
I’m just going to enjoy myself.
“Miss, shall we go?”
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
I followed Mary down the street.
We chatted happily as we walked.
Then suddenly…
I felt someone staring at me.
I stopped and turned around.
“Hm?”
“Miss? What’s wrong?”
Mary asked.
Without answering, I stared silently down the street.
Perhaps I had imagined it.
There wasn’t a single person there.
Tilting my head at the strange feeling, I turned back toward Mary.
“It’s nothing. Let’s go.”
✑ ✑ ✑
Since Mary often went shopping, she knew the town quite well.
She guided me from place to place.
First, a jewelry shop she had always wanted to visit.
Then a café famous for its delicious desserts.
They were all places Mary had wanted to see, but I also enjoyed being outside after such a long time.
Before we knew it, the sun had begun to set.
After buying dinner to take home, we headed back.
“Mary, wait.”
Just as we were almost home, I stopped her.
She turned around in confusion.
Unlike her, I frowned at the strange feeling that had been bothering me.
Something was wrong.
Earlier…
And now as well…
The street where our house stood was strangely empty.
It wasn’t some remote alley, nor was it a time when people should have disappeared.
And there was also that gaze I had felt before.
After hesitating for a moment, I whispered,
“Mary… let’s hurry home.”
“Did you suddenly get an idea for your novel?”
“No… I’ll explain later. Just hurry.”
I grabbed her arm and began walking quickly.
Perhaps my urgency had rubbed off on her.
As soon as we reached the front door, Mary hurriedly took out the key and unlocked it.
The moment we stepped inside, I quickly shut the door and locked it.
“Miss… what’s been wrong with you since earlier?”
Mary looked genuinely frightened.
I wanted to reassure her.
But I was too uneasy myself.
After a brief silence, I quietly said,
“I think… someone may be after us.”
“W-What?!”
Mary’s eyes grew as round as a rabbit’s.
Keeping a serious expression, I continued.
“It’s strange that there’s no one on the street near our house. And I felt someone watching us when we left earlier. I hope I’m just imagining it…”
“D-Do you think they realized you’re actually a noble and want your money?”
She already sounded convinced it was real.
I gently patted her shoulder.
“It’ll be alright. It might just be my imagination. But just in case… tomorrow morning we’ll report it to the town guards—”
Knock. Knock.
Someone knocked on the door.
Mary and I both froze and stared toward it.
“M-Miss…”
“Shh. I’ll check.”
I patted her shoulder again to reassure her before quietly approaching the door.
Keeping my eyes fixed on it, I took a deep breath.
Then, pretending to stay calm, I asked,
“Who is it?”
“A postman. I have a letter from Idea Publishing addressed to Author Ria.”
“Idea Publishing?”
I glanced toward Mary.
She looked through the window at the visitor outside and gave me a small nod.
I unlocked the door and opened it slightly.
A large man dressed as a postman stood there, smiling down at me.
“Are you Author Ria?”
“Yes. You said you’re from Idea Publishing?”
“That’s right.”
As I reached out to take the letter, a thought suddenly occurred to me.
Couldn’t I ask this postman to deliver a letter to the town guards?
I hurriedly looked at him.
“W-Wait! I have a favor to ask—”
Then…
A thought flashed through my mind, and I stopped speaking.
The postman looked at me curiously.
I stared back at him with suspicion.
“You just said… you’re from Idea Publishing, right? This letter…”
“Yes. That’s correct.”
“Idea Publishing would never send me a letter addressed to my pen name.”
To prevent anyone from discovering my identity, the publisher always sent letters using my real name, never my pen name.
And they never sent them under the publisher’s name.
They always used my editor’s name instead.
Even after hearing that, the postman simply maintained his calm expression.
Feeling something was terribly wrong, I quickly tried to shut the door.
Or rather…
I was about to shut it—
Until the postman suddenly caught the door with one hand.
“I’m truly sorry, Author Ria.”
The moment those apologetic words left the postman’s mouth…
My vision was swallowed by darkness.
