Elara Quinn was writing while walking.
Her notebook was open, her pen flying across the page, her mind lost in the world she'd created. A world of princes and betrayal, of love twisted by duty, of a girl named Lyria Vale who would die for her best friend's happiness.
She didn't see the truck.
She heard it first—a low rumble, a screech of tires, a horn blaring like a war cry. She looked up, eyes wide, just in time to see the massive grille of a delivery truck barreling toward her.
There was no time to scream.
Just a flash of light.
And then—
Nothing.
---
Elara woke up gasping.
Her lungs burned. Her skin tingled. Her heart thundered like a drum in her chest.
She was lying on silk sheets, surrounded by velvet curtains and the scent of roses. A chandelier sparkled above her, casting golden light across the room. Her body felt… different. Softer. Smaller. Not her own.
She sat up, trembling.
A mirror stood across the room.
She stumbled toward it.
The face that stared back was not hers.
It was Lyria Vale.
---
The Realization
Elara backed away from the mirror, heart racing.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no."
She knew this face. She had written this face. Princess Lyria Vale—best friend to Princess Seraphina, loyal to a fault, doomed to marry Prince Dorian and die by his hand.
This wasn't a dream.
This was her story.
And she was inside it.
---
She tore through the room, searching for clues. The furniture was exactly as she'd described in her novel. The tapestries. The perfume bottles. Even the view from the window—gardens blooming with moonflowers—was straight from Chapter Twelve.
She was in the palace.
She was in her palace, the palace she was told to live at,when she had left her own kingdom to come to this kingdom and study how to be a proper princess fit for a queen,who is betrothed to the crown prince .
But not as herself.
As Lyria.
And that meant—
She was supposed to die.
---
The Clock Starts
A knock at the door.
"Princess Lyria," a voice called. "The Crown Prince awaits your answer."
Elara froze.
She remembered this scene. It was the turning point. The moment Lyria was offered a proposal by Crown Prince Kael Thorne—a political move, not a romantic one. In the original story, Lyria refused. Seraphina married Kael. Lyria was handed to Dorian. And then…
Murder.
She had five minutes to choose.
---
The throne room was exactly as she'd imagined—cold, grand, intimidating. Guards lined the walls. Nobles whispered behind fans. At the far end stood Kael, tall and severe, his silver-blond hair catching the candlelight.
"Lady Lyria," he said, voice echoing. "Will you marry me?"
Elara's knees nearly buckled.
This wasn't just a scene anymore.
This was survival.
She looked at Seraphina, standing behind Kael. Her best friend. Her heroine. The girl who was supposed to marry the prince.
Seraphina's eyes pleaded silently.
But Elara couldn't afford to be noble.
She knew what came next.
If she said no, she'd be handed to Dorian.
And Dorian would kill her.
---
She looked at Kael.
He was cruel. Cold. But she had written him with depth. With secrets. With the capacity to love—if only someone could reach him.
She looked at Seraphina.
She was kind. Brave. But she would survive this. She had other paths. Other chances.
Elara had none.
"I accept," she said.
Gasps echoed through the room.
Kael's eyes narrowed. He had only proposed to her cause it was an order from his father the king.
Seraphina's face crumbled.
And the story began to change.
---
That night, the palace buzzed with gossip. The engagement was announced. Elara—now Lyria—was fitted for gowns, paraded before nobles, and congratulated by strangers.
She felt like a fraud.
She had stolen a love story.
But she had also stolen a death sentence—and rewritten it.
Kael didn't speak to her. He watched her with unreadable eyes, his expression carved from stone.
Seraphina didn't come to see her.
Dorian did.
---
Dorian's Visit
He found her in the garden, just after sunset.
"You're clever," he said, voice smooth. "I didn't expect you to say yes."
Elara stiffened. "It was the right choice."
Dorian smiled. "Was it?"
"I think so."
He leaned closer. "You think you've changed the game. But you haven't. You've just moved the pieces."
"I'm not afraid of you."
"You should be."
His smile vanished.
"I don't know what you're playing at, Lyria," he said. "But I'll be watching."
He turned and walked away, leaving Elara with a chill in her bones.
Later that night, Kael came to her chambers.
"You're not what I expected," he said.
"I'm not who you think I am."
He studied her. "You're not afraid of me."
"I've seen worse."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "You speak like someone who knows more than she should."
Elara smiled faintly. "Maybe I do."
Kael stepped closer. "Then be careful. Knowledge is dangerous here."
"I'll remember that."
He didn't press further.
And she didn't confess.
Because telling the truth—that she had written this world—would only make her a target.
The next morning, Seraphina came to her chambers. Her eyes were red. Her voice was sharp.
"You betrayed me."
Elara stood her ground. "I made a choice."
"You were supposed to refuse."
"I couldn't."
Seraphina's hands trembled. "He loved me."
"I know."
"Then why?"
Elara's voice broke. "Because I didn't want to die."
Seraphina stared at her. Then, without a word, she turned and walked away.
Elara sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face.
She had rewritten the story.
But at what cost?
---
That night, Elara sat at her desk, staring at a blank page of her novel which had followed her into this world.
She had once written this story with confidence, with control. But now, the plot was unraveling. The characters were changing. The stakes were real.
She picked up the book and just decided to keep it hidden from people and her self cause she felt ashamed of what she had done to her now story which was supposed to end happily for the two lovers.
But she began to think again the only reason she changed this world was.
Not as a creator.
Not as a confessor.
But as a survivor.