The first thing she noticed was the smell of roses and fresh hay, warm and alive in the morning air. The second thing was the light. Golden sunlight spilled through tall windows, catching on velvet curtains and polished oak furniture.
The third thing was panic.
Solara sat up so fast her vision blurred.
This wasn't her apartment. There was no laptop, no mess of books, no hum of traffic outside. Just silence — deep, soft, unreal.
She stared down at the sheets: silk. The bed: carved wood. The dress she was wearing: definitely not her pajamas.
Her heart stuttered. "Okay," she whispered, "either I'm in a very detailed dream… or I've been kidnapped by interior designers with a medieval obsession."
Her gaze snagged on the mirror across the room. And then she froze.
The girl staring back wasn't the Solara she remembered.
Her hair shimmered with soft maple gold, brushing her shoulders in gentle waves. Her eyes , not brown anymore, but vivid green, like sunlight through glass. Her skin looked flawless, unfairly so, glowing as if someone had turned her brightness settings all the way up.
She leaned closer, pressing a trembling hand to the mirror. "No way. No freaking way."
It wasn't a filter. It wasn't a trick.
It was her, but in some impossible version of herself.
Before she could spiral any further, a knock came at the door.
"Solara? My darling, you're awake!"
A woman stepped in, elegant, auburn-haired, eyes warm and bright with relief. She looked like she belonged in a painting, not real life.
"Mother?" The word slipped out before Solara even realized she'd said it.
The woman's face softened. "Oh, sweet girl, thank the stars. You frightened us. Two days asleep! I feared we'd lost you."
Two days?
Solara blinked, trying to keep up. "I—sorry, what?"
Then a tall man entered,calm, steady, the kind of person who looked like he'd never once been late for anything. "You've returned to us, Solara," he said, smiling. "Our hearts can rest easy now."
They spoke with such love, such certainty, that her throat tightened.
They knew her. They believed she belonged here.
And in some twisted, terrifying way… a part of her did.
Names flickered in her mind like fragments of a dream: Count and Countess Arden. The noble family of the kingdom of Esther.
Esther.
Her breath hitched. The name wasn't random. It was familiar — painfully familiar.
Because she'd read about it before.
Because she knew how it all ended.
She was inside the story.
A soft bark pulled her back. A small golden-brown dog bounded in, tail wagging like mad. It leapt onto the bed, licking her hand with unfiltered joy.
"Hey there, little one," she murmured, scratching its head. "At least someone seems happy to see me."
"Piro," her mother said with a laugh. "He refused to leave your door."
"Piro," Solara repeated. The name felt… right. Like a word she'd said a thousand times before.
As she sat there, stroking the dog's fur, the truth began to settle — heavy and terrifying and real.
She wasn't dreaming. She wasn't hallucinating.
Somehow, she had woken up as Lady Solara Elara Arden, daughter of Count Arden… and a character in a story that was never supposed to end well.
Her reflection caught her again in the mirror — the too-perfect girl staring back at her like a stranger wearing her face.
Solara exhaled slowly. "Okay," she said under her breath. "If this is real… then I'm not letting it play out the way it did in the book."
Outside, sunlight drenched the gardens in gold. The kingdom of Esther still stood — unburned, unbroken, full of promise. Somewhere beyond those walls, a golden-eyed prince lived his story… one that had once ended in heartbreak.
But not this time.
Not if she could help it.
"If fate gave me a rewrite," she whispered, smiling faintly, "then I'm going to make it count."