“Take my hand!” The rocky cliff edge dug into Scrivener’s belly as he strained to reach his friend. “Trust me!”
Below, Hero clung to a lucky handhold, their long legs dangling in the air. Beads of sweat dripped down their temple as they grunted in short, gasping breaths. “Why. Should. I?”
Scrivener’s mind went blank. A character had never questioned him like this before. “Because!”
Hero adjusted their calloused fingers, their grip quickly weakening. “WHY?” they bellowed. Despite the strain, they craned their neck to look up at Scrivener. But their eyes were empty and unseeing, looking past their rescuer. “When have you ever given me a reason to trust you?” The powerful word was laced with venom.
Mouth dry, Scrivener licked his lips, trying to find an answer. He stopped reaching for Hero. Instead, Scrivener leaned on his elbow and examined his ink-stained hands. These hands had created Hero. And their friends, their lovers and enemies, the intricate layers of backstory and plot that shaped their world. These hands wrote late into the night, crumpling ridiculous chapters, smoothing the wrinkled pages, starting over, but never stopping.
Leaning back over the cliff’s edge, Scrivener shouted, “Because I made you! Because I love you, Hero!”
At that moment, Hero’s left hand gave out. They grunted in a mixture of fear and pain, the sweat on their face now mingled with tears. “How…” their voice cracked, “how is this love? Do you not see what you’ve done to me?”
The question broke Scrivener’s heart. He chewed his lip, trying to stop the tears that instantly sprang into his eyes. If his own authored creation was so blind, was there any hope of rescuing them? Truly, Scrivener didn’t know. But he knew he had to try.
“Of course I see you,” Scrivener said softly. “I led you here. Through the highs and lows of your plot line, I have been with you every step of the way. In the dark when you cried, believing you couldn’t keep going, I was there. When the Great Evil swept in, destroying your world, I was there. When your heart was broken beyond repair, I was there, Hero. I have never left your side.” Reaching his arm out, Scrivener brushed Hero’s remaining three fingers that clung to the cliff wall. “I was there when you fell into darkness, slipping over the cliff’s edge. I was there. I lead you here.” Scrivener let out a strangled sob. “I. Am. Here.”
A powerful gust of wind pushed against Hero’s dangling form, threatening to send them plummeting to their inevitable doom. Terror, sharp and quick, escaped Hero’s throat.
“I’m here, Hero. I’m here. Open your eyes and see me. See me!”
Scrivener saw the change that swept through Hero’s inkwell eyes. A murky cloud dissipated, brightening the dark iris.
Hero blinked. With a gasp, they saw that Scrivener was there, just as he promised. A hopeful smile tugged at their lips.
“I led you into the dark,” Scrivener continued. “Now trust me to lead you back to the light!”
Hero nodded. Another finger slipped. The fear flashed back on their face.
“Take my hand!” Belly scraping across the stone, Scrivener reached as far as he could. “Trust me!”
With a fear-filled scream, Hero swung their body through the air, grasping for Scrivener’s hand.
Their fingers brushed.
“Try again! You can do it! I know you can!”
Gasping and desperate, Hero looked back up at Scrivener. Hopelessness had snuck back in.
“Don’t you do it, Hero,” Scrivener said. “Don’t you dare let go. Trust me.” Closing his eyes, Scrivener thought about wind. He thought about how he would write a description of the wind, the powerful gusts whipping around the cliffside, the power it gives to birds’ wings, and the gentle kisses it lands on lovers’ cheeks.
There was a shift in the air. A warmth swept below Hero’s dangling form, swirling around them.
“Now!”
At Scrivener’s command, Hero again swung their body, the wind aiding them as they reached and grabbed hold of Scrivener’s forearm.
Flinging his body backward, Scrivener hauled Hero to safe ground. The pair lay there gasping, arms wrapped around each other, tears intermingling.
Scrivener kissed the top of Hero’s head. “Thank you for trusting me.”
“Of course.” Hero released a gasping cry into their Author’s chest. “Thank you for not abandoning me.”
Scrivener’s arms tightened around their Authored. “Never. I am with you. Always. Even when I lead you into darkness, trust that I will lead you through it and back into the light.” There was a quiet moment before Hero asked, “But what if I doubt you again?”
“Just tell me. I’ll pull you back from the edge.”
As an author, Alexandra Rexford enjoys writing stories with wit and romance, including a dash of danger. In a perfect world, she would spend all her time writing, reading, sipping hot cocoa, and snuggling with her dogs.
Featured image by Leio McLaren on Unsplash.
