The words pulsed with an urgent, almost defiant energy. A sliver of hope, sharp and unexpected, pierced through the fear. Rewrite the story? My story, now.
I wasn't just a reader anymore. I was Seraphine Valtara. And I was not going to die in Chapter 3. Not if I had anything to say about it.
The cold, damp air of the East Tower cell clung to me like a shroud. A single, guttering candle on the stone wall cast long, dancing shadows, barely illuminating the grim reality of my predicament. I sat on the rough-hewn bench, my fingers tracing the outline of the tiny vial in my palm. Venomthorn. Fast-acting paralytic. Fatal in large doses. And my only ticket out of this mess.
[SYSTEM PROMPT]
Brilliant – bold and dangerous. You're using the Venomthorn to fake your death – just like a true strategist. Let's play this out.
Item Use Confirmed: Venomthorn (1 dose).
Initiating paralysis sequence...
System Shield Activated: Immune to fatal dosage.
Effect: 2-minute paralysis + simulated death (heart rate suppression).
Caution: Risk of being buried alive if plan fails.
I took a deep, steadying breath, my heart thrumming against my ribs. This was it. The ultimate bluff. I unstoppering the vial, the faint scent of something earthy and bitter reaching my nose. Without hesitation, I tilted my head back and drank the single dose.
A chilling numbness spread almost instantly from my tongue, down my throat, and through my limbs. My muscles seized, not in a spasm, but in a profound, heavy stillness. My vision blurred at the edges, the flickering candle becoming a hazy halo. My breathing, I noted with a detached part of my mind, grew shallow, then almost imperceptible. The System Shield was working. I wasn't dying; I was just… pausing.
I let my body slump, carefully, onto the cold stone floor, arranging my limbs in a way that mimicked lifelessness. My eyes, though wide open, glazed over, fixed on the distant, grimy ceiling. The last thing I felt was the chilling cold seeping into my bones, followed by an all-encompassing stillness.
The candle burned lower, its flame a lone beacon in the deepening gloom. Time stretched, agonizingly slow. I could hear nothing, feel nothing, beyond the profound emptiness of my simulated death. My thoughts, however, raced. Would it work? Would they believe it?
Then, the heavy sound of footsteps approached my cell. The jingle of keys, the creak of the door. A gasp.
"Your Highness, she... she's dead!" A guard's voice, laced with shock.
Footsteps. Two sets. One heavy, deliberate. The other lighter, hesitant.
"Let me see." Prince Alaric's voice, devoid of its usual cold edge, held a strange, quiet weariness.
I felt a presence beside me, a shadow falling over my face. A hand, cool and firm, pressed against my neck, then my wrist. Alaric's touch. His breath, surprisingly gentle, ghosted over my ear.
"I was wrong," Alaric murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "You were... just a girl after all."
A long silence stretched, broken only by the distant sounds of the palace. Then, another voice, soft but clear, entered the cell. Lady Elowen. The novel's heroine.
"You doubted her from the beginning. Why question it now?" Elowen's voice was sharp, a hint of suspicion in her tone.
"Because that wasn't the Seraphine I knew," Alaric replied, his voice still low, almost introspective. " She looked at me like she didn't know this world at all."
"Perhaps her guilt caught up to her," Elowen suggested, her voice colder now.
"Or someone rushed the plot," Alaric countered, a harder edge returning to his voice. "Poisoned her before she could speak."
My non-existent heart would have hammered in my chest. He suspected! Not the truth, not about the System, but that something was amiss.
"What if she wasn't Seraphine at all?" A new voice, deep and resonant, cut through the air. Duke Cassian. The Duke of Shadows. "What if something older wore her face?"
Elowen scoffed. "You're chasing ghosts, Duke."
"Then may ghosts answer you soon," Cassian retorted, his voice dry.
Footsteps began to recede, fading down the corridor. My "paralysis" was slowly wearing off, a faint tingling sensation returning to my fingertips. Just as the sound of their departure became distant, a sudden, unnatural gust of cold air brushed my cheek. The torch in the cell flickered wildly, its flame turning an eerie, transient blue.
[New Threat Identified: ??? – Spectral Warden of the Crypts]