The crowd clapped and cheered as the host called out the name of the current guest. The movie star bowed a bit toward the audience and cameras. This whole commotion lasted only a few seconds, yet all that was enough to make the next participant in the hallway shiver in nervous anticipation. Eddie adjusted his tie and wiped the sweat off his forehead. The people quieted down and the host finally announced the final guest of the night.

"And now, please welcome our final visitor. He's a writer who perished in the flames, only to rise from them like a mighty phoenix and shine even brighter. Edward Wright, ladies and gentlemen!" He pointed towards the entrance and as Eddie walked in, the crowd got clapping once again. In his head, he was thinking about whether or not they are clapping more or less than with the previous guest, but he quickly abandoned those thoughts in order to save himself the stress. The talk show host shook his hand and asked him to kindly sit down. Once they were both resting in their chairs, the people quieted down and the main show was ready to commence.

"So, Mr Wright, it's a great pleasure to have you here."

"Thank you. The honour is all mine."

"Now, you're a bit of an oddity among the writing community, wouldn't you say? So many published books, and suddenly something so unnatural happens and they are all gone."

"Yeah, that's what happened."

"Do you perhaps have any idea of your own what could've caused it? After all, whatever happened those eighteen months ago has clearly been a sign of the supernatural. It quite literally shook the entire world."

"Well, I have said it before, so there's nothing else I can really offer regarding this topic. The loss of my books was devastating. I've worked many years to create them and now there isn't a single copy. I know not what happened and it definitely wasn't easy to recover from it."

"I believe that. I mean, that's tens of books just destroyed. But then the people started coming together, right? I remember the online forums where people were piecing together your stories from memories alone. I think they already managed to restore almost three whole books, is that right?"

"Well, sort of. I don't precisely remember what happened in them. Only the important parts. So they might be 100% correct or just loosely related. But the main ideas seem to be the same, so yes, the books are technically being restored."

"That must please you, no? After all, your work might not all be destroyed."

"Well... it's difficult to explain. Creating a perfect copy might theoretically save the story. Sure, other people and even the next generations will be able to enjoy them, but it will never be the same. The copy, even identical, can't bring back the memories and feelings of the original."

"That is a very philosophical way of thinking."

"Heh, perhaps. But hey, what do I know? Maybe copies can still be just as good."

"Perhaps. I'd say that depends on the person. But we're not here to talk about your past works. Naturally, with all the publicity this mysterious event gave you, there must've been a lot of pressure on you to create a new book, right?"

"Indeed. I've been getting tons of emails about making something new. And it's been a crazy ride, but I am happy that I can finally put another book onto the shelves again later this month."

"That's right, ladies and gentlemen, Edward Wright's new book. A mysterious title: Artist's Nightmare. I know that we are only a couple of weeks away from the official release, but would you be willing to perhaps tell us something about it? You know, like a little teaser?"

"Heh, well, I can certainly try. You see, after the books disappeared, I couldn't really wrap my head around my own life. It was as if somebody erased the past few years of my story. I was completely lost. So I used writing as a sort of... means of expression, and to help my own mental health. Since science couldn't explain what happened to my books, I created my own story. Made up what could've transpired at the time, why my books disappeared, and just mixed in my negative emotions of that period."

"Ah, I see. So you created a story about your stories disappearing to help you cope with the loss?"

"Well, yes, that is one of the reasons."

"Oh? And the other ones?"

"Truth be told, I also did it for my friends. Through my stories, I made quite a few of them, and unfortunately, we lost contact due to what happened. So through this, I am trying to mend some old wounds, so to speak."

"Bring back the dead friendships?"

"Haha, you have no idea how accurate that is."

"Well, I do know, however, that we are all really eager to finally read Artist's Nightmare when it comes out. Thank you, everyone in the studio and all you viewers at home. You are a fantastic audience, and please, give one more final applause for tonight's hosts!"

Sandra turned off the TV. Her face was glowing with a big smile and eyes full of pride. That was her husband right there. Finally, he's been getting the attention he deserved. His works have been everywhere lately. The past year and a half had been crazy for both of them, but finally, it seemed as if things were slowing down again.

Keys rustled in the lock a few minutes later. As they did, her heart rate spiked up. She put down her work and ran to the door, eagerly awaiting who was behind it.

"Heya, I'm home," Eddie's soft voice and even softer smile greeted her. The moment he locked the door behind him again, Sandra's arms wrapped up around him and pulled him closer.

"Hey! I'm glad to finally have you home!" she said. Eddie looked at the clock hanging at the end of the hallway. Half-past eight. He's really been gone for quite a while.

"I'm happy to see you too," he replied and hugged her back.

"I've just seen you on TV."

"Oh? Another news report about how I scammed people with my disappearing books?"

"No! Don't you remember? The talk show was broadcasted tonight."

"Oh yeah, that thing."

"You don't seem okay. What's wrong? Is it... well, The Shade again?"

"No no, not him. Although, we should probably stop calling it that."

"Why? It's better to give it a friendly name."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Then what is it if not him? Something's clearly bothering you."

"The book's release date is coming."

"Oh yeah. It must be really tough for you, huh? I can't imagine what it's like essentially writing an autobiography and having to pretend it's fiction."

"Well, that's not really easy, no. But I don't mean that. I've been more bothered about what the book might create."

"You mean as a world?"

"Yeah. After all, those worlds existed, but then they didn't, and now I wrote about them again, but only about their demise. So does that mean I will just doom them all to suffer again?"

"But it has such a happy ending! You kill the Resident and restore the world. People are happy again!"

"Maybe."

"Definitely! I know it's not what actually happened, but just the fact that you wrote them a better ending is so sweet of you."

Eddie didn't respond. He simply didn't know what else to say. She was right, but at the same time, her words brought him little relief.

"Look, just try to take it easy, okay? You did the right thing. I am sure of it. Besides, it is already written. And from what I understood from the story, once it’s written, it has already happened, no?”

“Technically, yeah.”

“Then just leave it. I have dinner prepared for you. Maybe that will brighten up your mood a bit. Or maybe would you like to watch a movie tonight? I’ve got some options we haven’t seen yet.”

Eddie smiled. “Heh, thank you. We can totally watch something tonight. But I forgot to check my emails before I left, so if you don’t mind, I’ll just quickly pop on my laptop to see how much of a clusterfuck I’ll have to deal with tomorrow.”

“Okay. But don’t take too long, or the food will go cold and I’ll be sad.”

“Heh, well, we can’t allow that, can we? Don’t worry, it’ll just be a minute.”

He quickly took off his jacket and headed into the living room. His laptop, previously trapped in his messenger bag, let out a satisfying purr as Eddie turned it on. The Wi-Fi took its sweet time to connect, so much so that he started contemplating whether he shouldn’t simply leave it for tomorrow and get some rest tonight. But just as he was about to shut it off again, the data finally flew through, and his email inbox loaded.

“Ah, I might be home early tomorrow. I only have seven emails here. Once I get them done I… Wait, who the hell is this?” He paused for a moment as his eyes skimmed through the names of the senders. Most of them he knew far too well. Publishers, lawyers, and administrative offices. But one of them struck his memory like a falling brick – “Win.Chester”. This may have only been spam, as Eddie originally thought, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t bring himself to erase it. The inbox showed no subject or even any text in the mail. Only a single attachment – an image file. Knowing far too well that this could’ve infected his computer with all sorts of malware, Eddie still clicked on it. After all, there was nothing too personal on the machine’s disk and all his work was saved on a cloud anyway. Then the file loaded, and his eyes filled with salty water.

It was a photo. The Deaths stood there, lined up next to one another. Jack and his family stood to the left, while Ifrit, Gunslinger and others took over the right side of the picture. There was everyone. Soul, White, Chester, Beast, and even Marley. They were all standing on a hill and behind them lay the beautiful small town of Sunwalley. Not a single building seemed to be damaged and metal pipes were now running through the place and off into the desert. Each of the people was smiling or sending Eddie a teasing grimace. In their hands, they held a massive sheet of paper, which covered their whole lower bodies. There, on that sheet, was a text written in large letters of red colour, saying only two simple words: “Thank you.”