[WP] You turn on your PC to keep working on your novel, but to your surprise, when you open the file, it is writting itself. You read some of what has already been written and it seems your characters have created free will, and the plot is progressing without you.

...

mpty as it had ever been in the short time which I'd possessed the bottle of whiskey, thick glass tumbled with a hollow clunk and clamor as the bottle rolled free from the peeled-back surface of my worn folding table. A dramatic echo of its landing, soon accompanied by the following journey along the floor, carried with unpleasant effect in my ears, only ceasing its complaints by an excessively loud impact at the base of the metal legs of the table and the rug.

Whatever normal circumstances that could have spawned such an act of drunken clumsiness, much akin to that which just unfolded, might be enough to force consideration: Demanding a prompt and immediate ceasing of my nightly ritual among the written word and pending insanity. For certain it had been on some nights before, my awareness and acknowledgement to the circumstances often settling back upon my thoughts, sobering between the clustered warmth along the radiator. As if brought in by the despised chill of a November evening through imperfect window planes and plastic wrap coverings, it was after such a collision I might rise from my ramblings and delusions.

But not on this night; for certain there was no such awakenings of more rational thoughts buried beneath the spell of spirits and warmth in my chest. In place of what might have been, what normal explanation to circumstances found to which my mind might provide, there was a vast emptiness. The likes of what mental absence I can only construe in words by manner of awe and fear.

Upon the white glow of the screen before me, paper not yet printed nor revised did fill along with the black smear of words. Letters to combinations, sentences and paragraphs- each with emphasis and vocal portions of thoughts put to page; And so it was they continued. Very much upon their own accord and will, while my shaking hands fumbled beneath the rough surface of the table which held them for the warm and familiar glass of the liquor: A silent prayer there might yet be some hint of which remaining to ease the madness of it all.

Alas, there was none but a drop unable to reach my tongue, while my sight did not dare stray from the template of a medium not transcribed to the physical plane. I read the words as they came, letting not my fear- nor disbelief, hold back my wonder: Piece by piece, the text carried on before me.

There was much in the way of magics, where the Dark Lord waited; held in place by his own curiosity along a location that both existed, and did not. As it might have always seemed from the outside looking in, from the odd state of reverse to such, the place between worlds seemed much less empty than any might have guessed.

Light, or perhaps true light, was a strange and distant thing. A glow of source unknown was present before the Dark Lord's eyes, and should he sweep his hand through the motions required, there might be more: Magics sparked to life on the vibrant kindling which saturated the space around him. As it stood, or perhaps floated aimless with not a single surface beneath his own tow feet and robes, there was little purpose to illuminating a lack of something, and little further still to expect the void to fill itself before his own.

"What has lead me to this place?" Said spoken words to no one, a silent reaching comfort only to the speaker himself alone. "And why is it I have not returned from where I once resided?" The question asked stretched on into the infinite black of the distant void, not confirmed by anything or anyone.

Magics flared to life, difficult and complicated things even by the Lord's own acceptance: Rituals rushed and hurried along shortcuts and avenues not not to but a rare few who dedicated all but a small portion of their mortal lives to design them, and the immortal life that collected the knowledge without such restrictions.

Waiting quietly between the burning glow and radiance of the mana filling in the space around him body, the Dark Lord would satisfaction in whatever answer awaited his own eyes, nodding with a dangerous flash of teeth and curling lips. Even in the most present absence of light, his pale skin seemed harsher than many might tolerate.

"Betrayal... After all these centuries." The voice which spoke those words to no one seemed cool, indifferent as a storm might be to the lands beneath it. "A desperate gamble."

His powers roared to life once more, flashes of crimson and violence bursting from the ethereal shade of the emptiness in which he floated until tears began to rend themselves: Rips as if through a fabric made from the threads of light and space itself.

Slowly, those pulled as his own hands clentched- motion to part the seams before his figure like a man pressing aside two doors of thick wood, bolts sticking however unwanted along whatever grooves had held them. Strain as hiss, air and lungs, muscles and tensions abound while great oceans of magic seemed to swirl about the whole affair, and the pale skin seemed to glow with their imbued qualities of chaos and starlight.

The tears opened like a white-hot glow of fires too powerful for touch, then cooled, settling from uncontrolled neon to a cooler surface which held, then solidified, only leaving faint ripples. Simple oscillations of enormous effort left to fade off into the endless crawl back to nothingness in which it had sprouted.

Still, however dim, the portal before the Dark Lord Glowed, as did the others around it. Dozens of possibilities waiting for passage and command of the one powerful enough to tame them. Each and every single one, a door to another place, another world, another plane.

The magics spent now settled, and the light which was not truly light faded back to the dim black stretch as the Dark Lord looked ahead, eyes peering far off through the still waving lens, swishing along as though a single stone had been pitched into a calm pool.

"It is time to leave this place." The Lord spoke, voice calm but aloud none-the-less, as if to speaking towards some unseen observer watching and listening from some unobtainable place. "I will not be stopped so easily."

With that, the Dark Lord stepped beyond the veil, and the void was once again the void.

As the text finished itself, settling to a silent blinking curser upon the digital page, I rubbed my eyes- the strange spell which had once held me prisoner, now broken. How long had I sat here, staring at the screen? How many hours had it been since the last drop of whiskey had found itself wasted on the rug and whatever lesser things might inhabit its curls and folds of untold surface area beneath my feet?

The cold winds and howl of tree branches rattled the poor window beside me, fitting in familiar beside a constant hissing sputter of the radiator. The sounds carried on in further, both inside the walls, and outside them; the distant background of pipes and pressures followed by the calling whips of air in motion. Yet on the screen before my eyes, nothing stirred. No more words flowed down along the page.

All was still.

I slowly rose away from the strange wonder that had transpired, head spinning with the buzz still ever-present behind my tired eyes. Whatever distant flashing red might be visible upon the clock in the room's corner mattered little beyond that it existed at all, as my body fell to the embrace of mattress and sheets.

I would rest then; my mind would sleep and should luck hold perhaps the work witnessed in this drunken stupor might still be waiting for me in the morning. A man could hope, I supposed.

For all I might remember, it came from my own hand regardless.