This story was supposed to be one thing.

Dark. Heavy. Consuming in the way it leaves no room to breathe.

And it is.

But somewhere between the tension, the chaos, and the characters who refused to behave… pieces of me slipped into it. My humor. My instinct to break intensity with something unexpected. So even in its darkest moments, there are fragments of light—subtle, sharp, sometimes misplaced, but undeniably there.

Because I am.

Dante and Visha were written once before. In a different form, with a different ending that never quite felt like an ending at all. They stayed unfinished, like a sentence cut off too soon.

This—is their rewrite.

And this time, they don’t get to linger in uncertainty.

This time, they don’t remain incomplete.

This time…They are going to finish.

— sria