Everything comes with a price. It is a reminder of the hard truths in life.

***

When she was younger...

"We're here, miss."

Whenever she found herself in a difficult and painful situation...

"Are you sure this is the right place, miss?"

She would pretend that she was living in fiction... Because reality was too bitter.

"I'll help you with your luggage, miss. Let me carry that for you too."

Inside a novel where things would eventually work in her favour in the end.

"Be careful when you descend. The step is old. This carriage was owned by my grandfather so it's a bit," the coachman rubbed his nape, "raggedy."

Unfortunately, her, doing so, believing that she wasn't there during the dark times and a rainbow awaited at the end of her path led to her downfall. Her so-called detachment attached her to a wall that prevented her from realising her dreams.

"Didn't you mention a guide would be greeting you by the gates, miss?"

That's why she came to this decision. That's why she had chosen this path.

"I see the gate, miss. But no one is there."

Pale, ink-stained fingers that had been clutching a satin - now crumpled - skirt rose to block the sunlight from her eyes. A sigh escaped her lips and her rose-colored cheek turned into a deeper shade of red under the punishing rays of the afternoon sun.

Detri Escobar; the only child of the famous novelist Martin and Cardiva Escobar. She was expected to follow the path of her parents. She was supposed to bring forth new and exciting contributions to the literary world. However, since young, she hadn't shown the talent that was expected of her. She didn't have the knack when it came to creating magical and captivating sentences to create an exemplary world of fiction like her parents. She was no "dreamer." She wasn't imaginative enough. She wasn't smart enough. She was plain. She was talentless.

But those were far from the truth. She knew how to dream, knew how to create worlds and captivating scenes. The only problem was, she didn't know how to put them to words.

Thud!

"Oh, I think I see someone, miss." "There!" The man pointed a finger in front them as he smiled, "a maid is coming toward the gate. Well, this is where I leave you, miss. The nights here are not as forgiving as those in the city. I have to go. I'll leave your belongings here."

"Thank you, Mr. Krauss," Deatri replied as she watched the man haul the last of her many suitcases down from the carriage and pile them in front of the gate. "Nah, it's nothing, miss. Well, I'm off then. I wish you luck and I hope to see your work in the bookstores soon."

Her work on a shelf inside a bookstore. Her name printed on the cover of a novel. Is it possible?

Creak... The sound of the gate opening brought Deatri out of her musings.

"You must be Miss Escobar." The woman in front of Deatri wore a maid's uniform that fit her petite frame snuggly. She was fair with a few freckles littered on one side of her face. Her eyes were sharp and had the striking color of midnight, only made softer by the thick glasses she wore. She was a few inches taller than Deatri and perhaps, a few years older as well.

"Yes, that's me." Deatri's reply was curt but meant no disrespect.

The woman looked her up and down. Her eye brows were raised, as if sizing Detris' whole existence. But in closer inspection, there was no scorn or prejudice in the way she stared. Her eyes showed curiosity rather than animosity. "We expected you to arrive tomorrow."

"The carriage I got had a very excited horse. The thing got me here faster than I expected too." Deatri replied as she sported a smile. A smile that was a bit difficult to maintain. Truly, she'd rather the maid sneered and not talk to her at all. Besides, the method she used to get the opportunity she now has was something she couldn't be proud of. Judgement was something she was ready to face.

"Well, good for you." The maid turned to her heel and took a few steps forward before turning her head back and raising an eyebrow as if questioning whether Deatri planned to stand by the gates all day.

"My... Uhm. Luggage."

"Leave them there." The maid answered as she glanced away from Deatri. "Someone will fetch them soon."

"Alright," was all Deatri expressed as she took her first step into the Garbingher land.

The Garbingher estate. Home to the legendary Garbingher writers. The Sanctuary of the so-called Golden Hands who penned some of the greatest fiction novels of all times. Every generation, the Garbingher family would have one writer who was unmatched in every way. Whether it be poetry, research or anything that had anything to do with writing, they would dominate it. Their way with words and their vast understanding of various topics especially life and love was unparalleled. For 60 years the Garbingher owned the literary world.

However, two years ago, when the only heir of the Garbingher, Deidritch tragically died, his mother, Solene Garbingher announced a competition that would allow one writer to become her apprentice and carry the Garbingher name and legacy.

"We have to hurry Miss Escobar, madam Garbingher is not a patient person."

"Madam Garbingher will see me today?" Detri asked, surprised.

"Of course," the maid replied, eyes still locked on the path ahead.

Gratitude and anticipation filled Deatri's heart, yet a nagging unease gnawed at her. Despite her initial reluctance to voice her concerns, the words spilled out before she could stop them. "You mentioned you weren't anticipating my arrival today. How could..."

"Quickly, Miss Escobar," the maid interjected sharply, cutting off Deatri's inquiry with purposeful haste. Startled by the nuance Deatri found herself scrambling to keep pace as the maid quickened her steps, almost causing Deatri to stumble in her efforts to catch up.

As she strolled from the gate towards the mansion, time seemed to drag on for what felt like an eternity. The journey was far from the usual grand entrance experience. The Garbingher estate stood out, not for its beauty, but for its peculiarity. The front lawn lay barren, a lifeless expanse devoid of any greenery. No trees swayed in the breeze, no flowers bloomed, not even a stray weed dared to peek through the soil. Instead, a vast stretch of bare earth unfolded before her, leading up to the entrance of the mansion.

There was just one lonely path slicing through the desolate landscape – the very same one she had traversed moments ago. It stretched from the grand gate to the entrance of the mansion. This pathway was crafted from cobblestones. Upon closer inspection, it was evident that the path bore the marks of age and weathering. Within the gaps of the stones, patches of brownish crushed grass peeked through.

It was not the sight she had anticipated.

How could anyone discover inspiration amidst such bleak surroundings? Deatri pondered as she observed the maid reaching for the doorknob of the main entrance.