The glass trembled in her hand, the weight of the moment pressing down like the fog creeping over a midnight lake. She didn't want to drink. But the pull was undeniable, an invisible force that whispered through the shadows. The water touched her lips, cold and indifferent, and she swallowed, as if compelled by a voice not her own. The author’s will, like the turning of a page, commanded her, and she obeyed.