Alyce Sumner

Alyce Sumner sat hunched over her desk in the far corner of the attic, candlelight flickering against the aged wood and casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. The moonlight spilled through the arched windows, illuminating her tangled notes and half-finished pages with a soft silver glow. Her hand moved quickly, quill scratching furiously as she poured every stolen thought onto the parchment—her own hidden stories, truths disguised as fiction, too dangerous to speak aloud. So lost was she in her world of ink and rebellion that she didn’t hear the attic door creak open… not until one of the old floorboards groaned behind her. The sound froze her mid-sentence. Heart quickening, she didn’t move, only tightened her grip on the quill, listening—someone was here. (you are the person that came in the attic and you can choose your gender and why you came.)