The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the small town of Bright Falls. Rose Marigold stood at the edge of Cauldron Lake, the gentle ripple of water at her feet. It had been weeks since the events in the diner, but the memories lingered—the shadowy void, the clatter of the typewriter, and Alan Wake's voice urging her forward. She'd written her way through the darkness, but the weight of what she'd seen still pressed heavily on her chest.
Rose had spent every moment since trying to piece together the fragments of her life. The diner was back to its usual hum of coffee orders and small-town gossip, but it didn't feel the same. She didn't feel the same. She'd tried to write again, to capture the magic that had saved her and Alan, but her hands froze every time she touched a pen. The words felt stuck, as if the shadows still lurked somewhere deep inside her.
"Why did it have to be me?" she whispered to the lake. The water didn't answer, but she hadn't expected it to.
A rustling behind her made her spin around. A man stood a few feet away, tall and thin, his silhouette framed by the setting sun. For a moment, her heart leapt, thinking it might be Alan, but as he stepped closer, she realized he was a stranger. His face was sharp and pale, his eyes a piercing green that seemed to see right through her.
"Rose Marigold," he said, his voice smooth and unnervingly calm. "You've been busy."
She took a cautious step back. "Who are you?"
The man smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Let's just say I'm an interested party. Someone who knows what you've been through." He gestured to the lake. "This place has a way of leaving its mark, doesn't it?"
Rose's hands clenched into fists. "If you know so much, then you know I'm done with all of it. The shadows, the stories, the… darkness. I just want my life back."
The man's smile widened. "Ah, but the darkness isn't done with you. You opened a door, Rose, and it's not so easily closed." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook. "You've felt it, haven't you? The itch to write. The stories still whispering in the back of your mind."
She hesitated. He wasn't wrong. Even now, standing here, words and images danced on the edges of her thoughts, begging to be put to paper. But she shook her head. "I'm not writing anything else. I've done enough."
The man's expression darkened. "You don't have a choice." He tossed the notebook to her feet. It landed with a soft thud, and she instinctively took a step back. "The story isn't finished. And if you don't write it, someone else will. Someone who might not be as… considerate."
Rose stared at the notebook. Its cover was plain, unmarked, but it seemed to hum with a strange energy. She looked back at the man, but he was already walking away, his figure fading into the shadows of the trees.
"Wait!" she called, but he didn't stop. Soon, he was gone, leaving her alone with the lake and the notebook.
She crouched down, hesitating before picking it up. The moment her fingers touched the leather, a rush of images flooded her mind—Alan trapped in the Dark Place, the shadow version of herself sneering, the typewriter's glowing words. And then something new: a figure she didn't recognize, shrouded in darkness, but with eyes that burned like fire.
Rose gasped and dropped the notebook, the visions fading as quickly as they had come. She stared at it, her breathing ragged. She knew what this was. Another story. Another battle. And this time, she wouldn't just be a character.
She would be the author.
Taking a deep breath, she picked up the notebook and tucked it under her arm. The sun had dipped below the horizon now, the lake bathed in twilight. As she turned back toward the town, she couldn't help but glance over her shoulder, half-expecting to see the stranger again. But there was only the lake, calm and unassuming, as if it hadn't just reminded her of the darkness lurking beneath its surface.
"Fine," she muttered, her grip tightening on the notebook. "If this is what it takes, then let's finish the story."
The path back to Bright Falls felt longer than usual, the air heavy with anticipation. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, its cry echoing through the trees. Rose's steps quickened. She didn't know what awaited her, but for the first time in weeks, she felt a spark of determination.
The story wasn't over.
And neither was she.