A sharp breeze kissed her cheek.
The eyelids of Aira opened. The room was filled with golden light, and she blinked against it. This wasn't the dim light from her desk lamp or the cluttered bedroom corner where she'd fallen asleep while reading.
She looked at a chandelier that glowed dimly with hundreds of crystal shards, a ceiling painted with angels and beasts locked in battle, and velvet curtains that poured like blood against the walls. The scent of roses and candle wax filled the air.
"This… This isn't my room," she whispered, her throat dry.
Heart beating, she stood up. She was wearing a long, flowing gown instead of her pajamas, stitched with silver threads that shine with every motion. She touched the fabric with trembling fingers. It was real.
"No." "No, no, no…" she said, her voice breaking as she uttered the words. "This isn't possible."
She remembered it too clearly: "the cursed book". She had read until she fell asleep. And then… nothing. Darkness. Sleep.
And now this.
THUMP. THUMP.
The enormous double doors echoed with a sudden knock. She was scared by the sound. Her spine went straight when she heard it.
"Your Highness," a woman said from the other side; the voice was polite but firm. "The Duke asks for your presence at breakfast."
Aira froze. Your Highness?
Her chest tightened when she remembered the pieces of memory in her mind, the story of the book. The world is described, the villainess's role.
"No way…"
She moved toward the vanity mirror, and her legs were shaking.
The girl staring back at her wasn't Aira, the regular girl who lived in a tight flat and who loved reading fantasy novels more than living her own life.
The reflection revealed a royal young woman with keen, golden eyes that burned like molten fire. Her hair cascaded like liquid sunlight and brushed past her waist. A beautiful crown of rubies rested against her head, as if it had always been there.
Aira's face became drained of blood. She was familiar with this woman. She knew her too well.
"Princess Elira…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The villainess.
The very character is chosen to suffer disappointment, betrayal, and finally a cruel death in the novel's climax.
Aira's stomach tightened as if someone had punched her. She was trapped inside the story as the cursed character of Princess Elira Duskbane.
THUMP. THUMP.
The knock came again, harder this time.
"Your Highness, the Duke insists you hurry."
Her heart was racing. She would come under suspicion if she made a mistake or behaved oddly. Suspicion was equivalent to death in this realm of politics and daggers concealed behind silk.
She pressed her shaking hands against her gown, forcing herself to breathe.
Calm down, Aira. You have to play along. At least until you figure this out.
Her fingers curled into fists.
She walked across the room and yanked open the door with forceful feet. A maid bowed her head deeply as she stood waiting.
"Good morning, Your Highness," the maid said softly, eyes lowered.
Aira forced her lips into what she hoped was an elegant smile. "Morning…"
The word came out awkward, but the maid didn't hesitate. Instead, she stood up straight and began walking. "The Duke is waiting in the dining hall."
Aira followed, her eyes moving everywhere. The corridors were endless, lined with oil paintings of hidden nobles.
Her palms were sweaty, her mind screaming. This is real. All of it is real.
Finally, they reached the dining hall. The maid pushed open a pair of lavish doors, revealing a long table adorned with platters and hot dishes.
A guy whose very presence seemed to demand silence sat at the head of the table. Silver hair brushed back from a face carved from stone, eyes as sharp and cold as a blade. His presence weighed on the room, suffocating.
The Duke of Duskbane. Elira's father.
"Sit," he ordered, his tone flat, allowing no argument.
Aira breathed and obeyed, sliding the chair across from him.
The Duke's eyes scanned her face. "You look pale. Were you planning something again?"
Her stomach jerked. In the novel, Elira was famous for her arrogance and plans. If she denied it directly, he'd know something was wrong.
She forced a small, clever smile. "Just… tired, Father."
The silence stretched. He narrowed his eyes and stared at her for a bit before turning away.
She relaxed, though her hands held tightly beneath the table.
Servants brought plates of roasted meat, fruits, and freshly baked bread. The smell made her stomach twist, but she forced herself to eat slowly. Each bite was heavy, her thoughts churning louder than the noise of cutlery.
If I really am Princess Elira, then… I know what will happen. I know her fate.
Betrayal. Ruin. Death.
Aira's fork shook in her hand.
The Duke's voice cut through the silence. "Remember, Elira. The royal ball is in three days. Do not shame this family. You understand what is at risk."
The words crashed into her like thunder.
The royal ball.
Her hand slipped, the fork clattering against the ceramic plate. Servants looked up in alarm, but Aira's gaze was locked on the Duke.
She knew what that ball meant. She had read the chapter too many times to forget.
It was the night when the heroine arrived in the story.
The night Princess Elira's downfall began.
And the first of many death flags.
she tightened her throat. She had trouble breathing. The Duke's eyes gazed into her, sharp and suffocating.
Three days…
She gripped the edge of the table, her fingertips white.
I have three days before everything goes wrong. Three days before fate swallows me whole.
She would die just as the cursed villain was supposed to if she did nothing and didn't find a way to change the story.
Her pulse echoed in her ears.
I will not allow it to occur. Not to me.
Aira realizes she has only three days before the "death flags" of Princess Elira's fate begin.