Gerah’s eyes fluttered open.
A soft breeze brushed against her cheek, carrying the scent of blooming roses and lavender.
She sat up abruptly—her desk was gone.
The messy room? Gone.
Instead, she was lying on an enormous canopy bed, the ceiling draped in silk curtains of gold and white.
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What... is this?
She looked down at herself.
Her hoodie and sweatpants were replaced with a flowing pink gown embroidered with pearls. Her arms shimmered with golden bangles, and her hair—no longer a mess—was elegantly styled into curls.
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Panic rose in her chest.
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Just then, the door opened. A girl her age stepped in, holding a silver tray.
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"Princess Gerah, you're awake!" the girl said with a bow.
“I brought your favorite tea—lavender with honey.”
Gerah blinked. "Wait... what did you call me?"
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"Princess Gerah, of course."
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Princess?
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Her heart pounded. The name, the palace, the air—it was all too familiar.
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She stood up and rushed to the mirror.
Her reflection stared back. She looked regal, refined. Not like herself… but somehow, still her.
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"This isn’t real," she whispered.
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But then she saw the royal crest on the mirror frame—
Elvaris.
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The same name as the kingdom in her novel.
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Her breath caught.
This was the world she created. The one in her story.
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And she was no longer the girl writing it…
She was inside it.
“You’re not just writing the story anymore,” she muttered.
“You’re living it.”
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But something was off.
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She wasn’t Dahlia.
She wasn’t Mara.
She wasn’t even meant to be here.
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She was Princess Gerah—a side character. Barely in the plot.
And yet… the story had just begun.
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