Mateo had always been a control freak.every morning he would wake up 7 o’clock sharp , sip his coffee, and be at his desk by 7:27 where the glowing screen of his laptop awaited him like a blank canvas.He was a writer, a creator of worlds , of lives lived in the space between sentences.His newest book “the clockmakers heart” was about to hit the shelves and mateo had poured himself into its pages like never before. It was his magnum opus , or so he thought

But this morning felt … different

Mateo opened his eyes and groggily sat up.

“What. The. Fuck.” He muttered , rubbing his temples harshly

He stood , his legs shaky and stumbles towards the door. It creamed open with a long ominous sound. The corridor outside was eerily silent. No bustling city sounds or the usual hum of his apartment building. It was as if the world has paused.waiting for something. Or someone.

“Where am I” mateo whispered , though he knew nobody could hear him. He was about to turn back when his eyes caught a curious sight - a book , lying open on a wooden table at the far end of the hallway. It was his book

Panic surged through him. How could that be possible? He hadn’t even finished the manuscript and yet there it was , the cover stark against the dim light. It was as if the world had conspired to bring him here-Into the very pages he had written. With a mix of fear and curiosity, mateo approached the table , his footsteps heavy against the stone floor. He reached for the book, the leather cover smooth beneath his fingers . When he opened it, the pages were filled with his own handwriting - his words , his characters. The words leapt of the pages , alive and consuming him. They weren’t just words anymore; they were a reality.

And then he saw it.

The words beginning to shift, they rearranged themselves as though they had a life of their own m. The sentenced that he had written for the novel were no longer hid; they had turned into something else entirely. They were not his instructions. His fate.

“MATEO WAKE UP. You are not a man anymore. You are a character bound to a world toy have created , a world that now controls you”

The sentence burned into his Mind , each letter pulsing like a heartbeat. He couldnt escape it. The truth was insecaple; he wasn’t in the real world , he wasn’t even in his own apartment. He was in the novel. His novel.

The world around him began to solidify. His surroundings grew more defined, more vivid. Untill Mateo found himself standing in the very middle of the story he had crafted

It was the town if ilchester. A sleepy little village that looked like it had been untouched by time. He had written it as the setting for his protagonist. Alaric , a clockmaker who was struggling to fix an ancient clock that controlled the flow of time itself. The town was quiet , isolated , almost magical in it’d beautu but now if felt ominous

He stood in the centre of the village aware. The cobblestone streets stretched out before him , winding toward distant hills. There were no people , no sounds , only the ticking of a distant clock tower. Louder now as though it were part of the very pulse of this world.

“Alaric” mateo called , his voice shaky.

No awnser

He swallowed hard and forced himself to move.he needed awnsers, needed to understand hoe he had ended up here and maybe Judy maybe Alaric ; the clockmaker ; his creation had the key. As he walked , the town seemed to watch him. The buildings loomed taller than they should have their windows watching like eyes. The air hung heavy with expectation, it was as if the world was waiting for him to make a choice . A move . A mistake

And then he saw him.

Alaric. The man who had lived in his mind for years. The brooding , mysterious clockmaker who was trapped in his own struggle bound by a fate mateo had designed for him.

“Alaric” mateo called out this time with more ergency.

The figure turned, and Mateos heart skipped a beat. It was as if he was looking into his own reflection but twisted- bent by the weight of the story. Alarics eyes , cild and unreadeble locked with his.

“You shouldnt be here” Alaric said , his voice low and gravely “your not supposed to be part of this world”

Mateo took a step back “what do u mean. I-I wrote you. I created thid world”

Alarics eyes twisted into a grim smile “you may have written the world but the words wrote you you’re just part of the narrative now. Judy another character in the story you cant control” mateos mind raced “but im the author I…I made this” “no” Alaric said, shaking his head slowly “you’re a part of it now , you cant escape just like the rest of us that you imprisoned here”

Mateos stomach churned as the weight of the truth settled on him. He was trapped in his own creation. The very thing he had crafted , the world he invented, was now his prison

“Ive been trying to find a way out” Alaric added his gaze shifting towards the distant clock tower “but its not what you think. The clock … i think it holds the key” the clock tower stood silent now , but mateo could feel the pull of it . A force he couldnt ignore . It was the heart of the world , the ticking engine that powered everything within the story.

Without another word Alaric turned and began to walk towards the tower , his every step deliberate he knew the way. He had always known. Mateo hesitated for a moment before following , his legs moved without his consent. Drawn towards the tower like a moth to a flame. He didnt know what he would find there but something in him , the writers instinct perhaps tolf him that the awnsers be sought lay in the heart of the clock.

The clock tower loomed above him , its ancient stone facing staring down at Elliot as though it were a judge waiting to pass sentence. The door to the tower was open , dark and inviting. As he stepped inside the air grew colder and the ticking grew louder.

Alaric was already at the base of the stairs waiting for him. “Youve come far” he said “but this is where your story ends…or begins again”

Mateo swallowed “what do I have to do”

Alaric pointed to the enormous clock face at the top of the tower “fix it. The click is broken and so are you. You’re not the author anymore. You’re just another part if this world. To leave , you must set the time right”

Mateo hesitated “how do I do that?”

Alaric smiler again , this time a glimmer of something dark in his eyes “ by rewriting the ending. You wrote yourself into this. Now you must write yourself out”

Mateo stared at the clock. He had written so many words ti describe time but now he was bound by it . The hands of the clock moved in erratic patterns , never quite stopping. It was the perfect metaphor for his existance. He had always been in control but now … now he was lost

With trembling hands , he stepped towards the clock ready to take the reigns again . But as his fingers brushed against the gears , the words began to form around him , not from the book but from within him

“AND IN THE END , THE AUTHOR WAS NO LONGER THE MASTER OF THE STORY. THE STORY WAS THE MASTER OF THE AUTHOR”

Mateo gasped the realisation hit him like a wave. He wasn’t meant to control the story he was meant to live his

And as the clocks hands finally clicked into place the world around him began to fade.

Mateo awoke with a jolt , his hands still resting on the keyboard . The blinking cursor on the screen before him seemed strangely comforting , though the words he had written no longer felt entirely on his own . The clock on his desk ticked steadily marking the passage if time he could no longer control

He stared at the screen where the words of “the clockmakers heart” sat waiting for him ti finish. The final chapter remained undone

But maybe Just maybe the ending had already written itself

(I know i didnt 100% follow the prompt but this really spoke out to me)