Sunlight, filtered through layers of expensive silk curtains, danced across Ava's face, warm rays caressing her skin as she lay on the plush, queen-sized bed. Her eyes fluttered open, and she blinked several times, adjusting to the excessive, sparkling light.
The first thing she registered was the incredible softness of the pillow beneath her head—it felt like resting on a cloud of compressed feathers.
As her vision cleared, she sat up with a violent start, sending a cascade of buttery-soft blankets tumbling to the floor. The room was not hers. Her humble, messy bedroom, littered with books and baggy clothes, was gone.
Instead, she was in a lavish sanctuary done up in a truly overwhelming baby pink theme. Everything screamed excess: a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling; the furniture was antique white with gold-leaf trim; the vanity mirror was framed in carved wood; and the bed, a massive queen, felt alien and imposing. This was the kind of room a movie star's spoiled daughter would inhabit, not a quiet introvert like Ava Grant.
"Where am I?" Ava's panic set in, sharp and immediate. She frantically scanned the room. "Am I kidnapped?"
Her heart raced. She tried to stand, but her legs were tangled in the soft, silk-lined blanket. She tumbled back onto the bed with a muffled thud.
Just then, a knock at the door made her freeze, every nerve ending screaming. "Ma'am, are you awake? Should I prepare your breakfast tray?" a voice, refined and unfamiliar, called from the other side.
Ava remained silent, her breath hitching in her throat, until the footsteps receded down the hallway.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she tried to calm herself down. "Don't panic, Ava. Don't panic," she whispered, the name sounding foreign even to her own ears. She rationalized, drawing from her countless hours spent reading fantasy and mystery. "Every heroine gets into situations like this. They look around, find clues, and escape. I can do this too."
In a quiet corner of her mind, Ava offered a desperate, internalized prayer to all the protagonists she had ever admired. "Save me, my heroine! Your little admirer is herself in trouble!"
She slowly and cautiously explored the room, noticing that the clothes hanging neatly in the open closet were not her comforting, oversized hoodies, but expensive silks, tailored jackets, and delicate dresses in shades of lilac and ice blue. The whole scene was a visual assault on her minimalist soul.
Finally, she reached the ornate, full-length mirror. She paused, steeling herself, then turned to face her reflection.
"No, no, no... this... this can't be..."
Ava's scream was a sharp, high-pitched sound that tore through the quiet opulence of the room. She stumbled backward, collapsing onto the thick, expensive rug with a loud, painful thump.
The girl staring back at her was not the familiar, somewhat clumsy reflection of Ava Grant. This face was strikingly, impossibly beautiful. She had a flawless complexion, soft, chocolate eyes, and a full head of flowing, lustrous coffee colored hair that cascaded over one shoulder like a curtain of liquid silk. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, and her mouth, even contorted in horror.
Loud, panicked running footsteps echoed outside the room, followed by the door bursting open. Several people rushed in, their faces etched with deep concern.
Ava, still reeling from the shock of the mirror and the name that solidified in her mind, looked up. A middle-aged couple rushed forward, surrounding her. The woman, elegantly dressed and carrying the scent of expensive perfume, immediately knelt beside her.
"Are you okay, baby? Did you slip? Do you feel pain anywhere?" the woman asked, her voice thick with worry. She reached out and touched Ava's face with a gentle, foreign hand.
Ava was utterly confused by this display of immediate, overwhelming affection. Her real parents, the doctors, were always too busy or too tired for this level of tactile concern. She found herself recoiling slightly from the unexpected warmth.
"Baby, say something! You are making us worried, honey. Let's call Dr. Ellis immediately," the woman insisted, turning to the man, who was ready to give instructions to the servants.
"No, no, no need! I am fine," Ava suddenly shouted, stopping the man's hand. She forced a smile that felt sharp and unnatural on her new face. "But who are you people?" she asked, testing the waters.
The couple looked at each other, their faces tightening with confusion and alarm.
"Baby, we are your parents," the man said, his voice laced with concern.
Ava's brain, usually so logical and sequential when analyzing a plot, struggled to process the information. The unfamiliar room, the changed body, the worried "parents" who weren't hers—it all led to one terrible conclusion: she had transmigrated. And worse, she had transmigrated into a book she had just been reading.
She quickly decided on the only plausible, albeit cliché, course of action. She had to blend in.
"Hahaha, I was just joking! You should see your faces, Mom and Dad! I know you guys are my mom and dad, hehehe," Ava laughed awkwardly, scrambling up from the floor and hugging both of them simultaneously. She noticed the unfamiliar texture of their clothes and the way her "father" hugged her back tightly, a gesture far more protective than anything her busy birth father had ever offered. The small detail was chilling.
The couple was stunned by their daughter's bizarre behavior, but they were also visibly relieved that she seemed physically fine.
After breaking the hug, "You sure you are okay, right?" the woman asked again, smoothing down a stray strand of Ava's dark hair.
"Of course, I am okay, Mom. Don't worry, you guys can go now. I think I just need a minute to gather myself. You know, a weird dream and all," Ava said, desperate for them to leave so she could sort out her thoughts and her rapidly collapsing world.
After a few more questions and reassuring glances, the couple finally left, telling her to rest.
Then Ava noticed the servant, a nervous woman in a neat uniform, still standing near the door, waiting.
"Wait," Ava called out, keeping her voice soft and casual, trying to mimic the tone of a high-society young miss. "Do you happen to know... my name?"
The servant looked at her, clearly scared by the morning's events. "Yes, ma'am. You are the young miss of the Blackwood family, Lila Blackwood."
"Oh, okay... wait, what did you say... Lila, Lila Blackwood, as in the daughter of John Blackwood and Hannah Blackwood?" Ava asked, the casual mask shattering as pure shock and panic took hold.
The servant nodded quickly, confirming the worst. "Yes, ma'am."
Ava was speechless. She dismissed the servant with a shaky wave of her hand, and the door clicked shut, leaving her alone in the pink prison.
She slid down the wall, sinking onto the rug, and started crying—not externally, but internally, a silent, frantic scream echoing only in her mind.
"Why? Why? Just why? What did I do, ancient book? Why me? This is unfair, this is cheating! I don't want to be a villainess in a werewolf story... the very one I fell asleep reading!"
The story, Supernaturals, was a albeit cliché, werewolf romance novel that Ava had consumed in a single, frenzied night. And Lila Blackwood was the beautiful, arrogant, villainess. In the book, Lila, blinded by ambition and jealousy, repeatedly sabotaged the innocent heroine. Lila's bad deeds included blackmail, setting up false attacks, and eventually, attempting murder on the heroine.
Ava remembered Lila's fate with horrifying clarity. Lila dies in the middle of the story due to her bad deeds by the hands of the most dangerous and powerful villain in the most brutal way.
He made her pay for her crimes in the most drawn-out way possible, dying a slow, terrifying death halfway through the book.
Thinking about her cruel, inevitable fate, Ava wanted to die, but more urgently, she wanted to survive. The beautiful, reflection of Lila Blackwood in the mirror was now a countdown timer. She despised the woman Lila was, but she absolutely didn't want the death Lila deserved.
She wiped a tear that felt alien on her smooth cheek. The world was no longer about daydreaming of fictional boyfriends. It was about escaping the brutal reality of the book she had paid $47.00 for just hours ago. She had to rewrite Lila Blackwood's destiny, and she had to start immediately, before the plot of Supernaturals caught up with her.