Lígia never expected much from life.
But dying crushed by an old bookshelf, alone on some random Saturday?
That… was a little too poetically grotesque, even for her.
It was grotesquely poetic.
She laughed. Or thought she did.
Maybe it was just her last breath escaping — with the taste of lukewarm coffee and breadcrumbs.
She was alone. As always.
In a stuffy room in a university dorm, surrounded by piles of old books, borrowed dramas, and dreams that only existed when insomnia won over exhaustion.
The walls held more stories than her own life.
And she?
She was just a reader addicted to worlds where protagonists had destiny, suitors, and… purpose.
Leaning against the wall, she stared at the last page of her current obsession: The Garden of the Seven Lovers.
"And with a stolen kiss beneath the red moon, Lady Arwen chose the path that would break seven hearts and save the world."
Lígia slowly closed the book and sighed.
"Of course... she saves the world, and I..."
She didn't finish the sentence.
The sound came.
First, a dry crack of tired wood.
Then — the crash.
Everything went dark.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
...Silence.
The sound of the heart monitor was a farewell soundtrack.
The smell of the hospital was a cold mixture of plastic, ether, and dead flowers. The white curtains fluttered slightly in the air conditioning, like bored ghosts waiting for the end.
Lígia clutched the sheet in her thin fingers. The fabric felt too thick. Her hand trembled. Not with fear, but with exhaustion — the kind sleep or medicine can't cure. The kind that comes from simply existing.
She tried to smile.
She couldn't.
Around her, nothing made sense anymore: the doctors had left, the machines were turned off, and even the presence of the living felt unnecessary. The world had narrowed down to the ringing in her ears and the weak warmth in her lungs.
"Is this how it ends?" she thought. "After all that struggle, everything ends in silence and cotton?"
But there was something else in that room.
A different smell. A strange lightness in the air.
As if the world had held its breath.
And then — a voice.
"You can choose."
Lígia's eyes widened.
The voice didn't come from outside. It didn't echo in the room.
It was inside.
"Choose... what?" she murmured. Or thought she did. She no longer knew the difference.
"To continue — somewhere else. With another name. Another bloodline. Another chance."
The monitor, silent until then, let out a single beep.
Faint. But real.
She wanted to laugh.
"Is this heaven? A glitch? Some end-of-life hallucination?"
The voice answered.
As if reading her mind.
Maybe it did.
"You will be reshaped, but not erased. What is essence... remains. Even if the body changes."
Lígia closed her eyes.
For a moment, she saw images.
Faces she didn't recognize. Silver hair. Castles wrapped in crimson mist.
Hands casting spells made of flowers and thorns.
A name spoken by another mouth — yet somehow hers.
"You will be the daughter of an ancient house. And the world... will expect much of you."
She felt the weight of the choice pressing on her chest.
But also... the promise.
What if it's just another illusion? What if it's worse than here?
...But if it's a world where I can write my own story — to hell with the risk.
"If I'm going to continue… then I'll start over my way."
And then, she said:
"I accept."
The light grew stronger.
The sound of the world exploded into a thousand voices, as if reality had been torn open.
And in the middle of the white,
Lígia smiled.
Not out of weariness.
But defiance.
In the seconds that followed, she only knew one thing: there was an interval.
A pause in her vision.
Just a constant whisper, like the universe asking a question without expecting an answer.
And then, finally… light.
With a soft murmur, Lígia opened her eyes , blurred, disoriented ,blinking against the gentle glow of crystal chandeliers on the ceiling of… a bedroom?
Wait. WHAT THE HELL…
She was lying down.
But not in her old bed.
This bed was enormous, with white satin sheets, hand-embroidered pillows, and a canopy so delicate it looked like mist.
Silence.
Except, of course, for the distant sound of a harp playing something melancholy.
Lígia sat up suddenly. The world spun.
She forced herself to look around.
In the corner, a full-length mirror watched her back.
She hesitated, then stood.
Every step made the velvet carpets sigh beneath her feet.
She stopped in front of the mirror...
And didn't recognize her reflection.
The woman staring back was ethereal. Almost mythical.
Long platinum hair flowed like liquid silk to her waist.
Eyes the color of amethyst under moonlight.
Pale skin, flawless.
A face with aristocratic features — cold as a Renaissance painting.
But… there was pain there.
Or maybe it was just Lígia's mind trying to find something familiar.
She touched her own face.
"This isn't… my body."
The whisper dropped like a confession.
[DING!]
A distant sound became present.
Approaching — fast, metallic, inevitable.
And then a holographic screen blinked to life in the air before her:
[Prestige System Activated]
● Registered User: Lígia d'Argêntea
● Status: In disbelief
● Objective: Claim your own ending
"What the hell..." Lígia staggered back.
The mirror seemed to mock her.
[You received a mission]
"Accept your new identity without freaking out."
● Reward: +1 Mental Stability
She groaned, ruffling her hair.
"This is a joke…"
Her brain scrambled for logic.
And found none.
After years of fleeing from reality, here it was — wearing absurdity like a crown.
Had she… actually died?
And now… was she inside a novel?
A game?
A fantasy?
And more importantly:
Who was Lígia d'Argêntea?
[File in reconstruction]
Please wait...
She turned toward the room, hungry for clues.
The air smelled of roses… and hot iron.
As if the world were beautiful — but ready to bleed.
The embroidered crest on the curtains caught her eye: a crimson rose, wreathed in flames.
An aristocratic symbol. Heavy.
She'd read enough to know what that meant.
Villainess. Protagonist. Or both.
Lígia collapsed to her knees.
Not because she was weak ,
but because the weight of dying a nobody and waking up as someone was too brutal to process standing.
And then… she laughed.
Low, rough, a little unhinged.
Because if she had to be reborn with a snarky floating system...
She was going to do it her way.
[Mission: Accept your new identity without freaking out]
● Status: Complete
● Reward: +1 Mental Stability
She snapped out of it as the door creaked.
The golden doorknob turned with a crisp click.
Lígia instinctively dove under the satin covers — as if nobility was contagious and she hadn't gotten the vaccine yet.
A man entered, walking like someone who judged people for fun.
Tall. Elegant. Impassive as an etiquette manual.
"The young lady is awake?" he asked politely.
But the next words shattered whatever humor she had left:
"After fainting pathetically in the tea room, due to your own hysteria."
Lígia blinked.
"Hysteria?"
He didn't answer. Just lifted a notebook like a diagnosis. Or worse — a scandal diary.
"I'm Reinhardt Vael. Your new personal butler, assigned to supervise your conduct during this period of reclusion."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Reclusion?"
"By order of the Duke. You are forbidden from leaving the estate for five days. No visitors. No balls. No... further disgrace."
The word "disgrace" hit harder than the death of her favorite character in a novel.
"Of course. The old Lígia had a meltdown in public… and I woke up in her body after the wreck."
Her mind , trained by years of literary clichés , clicked into place:
Phase 1: Preventative punishment.
Phase 2: Adaptation arc.
Phase 3: Survival until the second plot twist.
"And… the heroine? The prince? All the other chaos characters?"
She spoke to herself, brow furrowed.
Vael raised an eyebrow.
"If you mean the Prince and Princess, they are… unharmed."
"Great," she muttered, burying her face in the pillow for three seconds before sitting up with a sigh.
"Okay, Lígia. The previous version was a high-heeled diplomatic disaster. And now you've fallen into a world with all the subtlety of a fireball. No panic. Panic is for underinformed commoners."
She stood ,legs trembling , and touched her lips, thinking.
[System Initialized]
[New Mission: Survive your punishment, learn about the world, and avoid being burned as an emotional heretic.]
Lígia took a deep breath.
"Vael, since I can't leave, I want access to the library. And… private lessons. Etiquette and history."
He stared at her like she had just suggested setting fire to the palace.
"Pardon me… what?"
"Either that, or I'll star in another scandal by the next festival. Your choice of headache."
He paused. And nodded.
"Very well, Your Excellency. Etiquette lessons begin at dawn. And… please, don't bite the tutor."
Lígia smiled.
"No promises. But… I'll try to be a good girl."
As he left, she whispered, gazing out the window:
"Let the reconstruction begin.
A rewritten character is the most dangerous weapon in fiction."