<center>![Escritor_de_terror_png.png](https://images.hive.blog/DQmZrc5xmnZtynfRQuykJLY77fwFzuNzkpkRD1kH6V1vMQF/Escritor_de_terror_png.png)
Digital Art made by me</center>

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<div class="text-justify">Night had fallen, but a faint light came from the second-floor window. </div><P/>
<div class="text-justify">Lurking in the shadows, I watched the cigarette smoke form ethereal upward spirals. </div><P/>
<div class="text-justify">Inside, the protagonist of my story was daydreaming, immersed in the pages of his own story.</div><P/>
<div class="text-justify">A shiver ran down my spine, icier than the cold that was seeping into my bones. </div><P/>
<div class="text-justify">For though he thought he was the author, the truth was that his life hung in the balance in my hands.</div><P/>
<div class="text-justify">I smiled mischievously, deciding on a particularly sinister twist for the next chapter. </div><P/>
<div class="text-justify">After all, what horror writer would resist torturing his own creation like this? </div><P/>
<div class="text-justify">He would never suspect that his reality was my chilling fiction and that he would die just like his protagonist.</div><P/>