Calliopeia: Daughter of the Ink

I used to write to breathe.

Not to tell a story, nor to make glory, nor to impress anyone.

I wrote because writing was the only thing that connected me to myself.

I wrote when I felt the world was too narrow for me to live in.

My name is Liana, and I am the girl who grew up on the edge of the forest, in an old wooden house inhabited more by books than by people.

I lived with my wise old grandmother who did not believe in phones, planted mint, and told me every evening that words left unspoken die in the heart.

"Letters are not just sounds written down... but doors. Once opened, they never close."

I always told myself, "Everyone has two windows: one that looks out to the world... and one that looks inward."

But I never knew which of the two windows was harder to open.

One gray morning, resembling the heart of the old city, I woke up to the sound of the wind striking the glass of my window.

The air was cold despite the arrival of spring.

I dragged my tired body out of bed and headed to the small table where my gray notebook and white pen had been sleeping for days.

I hadn't written anything of value, but in truth, I was writing daily-fragmented, cloudy lines filled with something within me I did not understand.

I sat down and rested my cheek on my palm, staring outside-the bare trees, the sky covered with thick fog, and people passing by as if no one really existed.

"Does anyone feel my presence?"

Only the sound of the wind answered me.

My notebook was open to a blank white page, empty of letters like its owner-lost, not knowing where she was.

I held my pen with cold hands, and my thoughts seemed to have fled my mind.

I closed my eyes and breathed slowly. Suddenly, I heard a faint voice-not from outside, but from within-a whisper barely audible:

"Write the door..."

I opened my eyes suddenly, looked around-no one was there, but the voice was real.

My hand moved over the paper on its own. I wasn't thinking; I was just doing.

I drew a vertical line with two curved arms branching out upwards and downwards on each side, resembling a person raising their hands in the shape of the symbol ⵣ, centered within a stone door.

As soon as I finished, the pen trembled in my fingers and fell.

Silence enveloped the room suddenly, as if time had stopped.

I felt something on the wall... an old, cold scent.

I lifted my head... and saw the door.

The same door I had drawn, as if it had emerged from inside the wall-a faintly pulsating stone carving.

I pushed the chair back and stood up, trembling.

I stepped closer, then whispered hoarsely, "Is this a dream?"

That night, I did not sleep.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the place where the door stood.

"Was what happened real or imaginary?"

The door was still, unmoving, but it was there-not drawn, but carved, as if it had always been there and I had never seen it before.

At midnight, I picked up my notebook, wanting to write, but I was afraid:

What if I wrote something wrong?

What if... the door really opened?

As midnight passed, I kept thinking, examining the blank page in my notebook.

The faint light slipped through the window, and the pen in my fingers seemed to be waiting for a hidden pulse.

My heart beat hesitantly, and my mind was full of questions.

I had not touched the paper yet, but something strange happened.

The air changed, as if the place breathed anew.

The scent of earth after rain filled the room, followed by a faint blue glow seeping from the wall itself.

The door appeared again... but this time, it was not silent.

A hidden voice, unlike anything I had heard before, passed through me-not through my ears, but inside my being, saying:

"You have been chosen."

I froze in place.

I looked toward the door opening, and the corridor behind it was covered in light fog, the beyond unseen.

I no longer thought.

I stepped forward slowly until I touched the edges of the quiet shadow beyond the threshold.

I looked back for a moment-to the room, the bed, the familiar.

Then I turned, and suddenly...

If you'd like, I can continue the translation or help you polish it further!

_______________________________________"I hope you like the chapter. I'm a beginner writer-please share your thoughts."