The story starts.

The time was still. No sound could be heard, and not even a flicker of lightning lit the darkness.

It felt as though the space had swallowed everything until nothing remained. In this void stood a tall black throne, and upon it sat a figure with closed eyes.

In the complete darkness, it was hard to see him, but suddenly the figure opened his eyes and looked directly at me.

"What the—" I gasped. He was really looking at me. How was this possible? I was the author, for God's sake. How could a character I created gaze back at me?

The figure rose from his throne and walked toward me with steady steps, his eyes locked onto mine. My heart raced; it felt as if it might burst from my chest, bringing an end to my mundane life.

But it didn't explode like I wished it would. Now he stood before me, his cold gaze piercing into my soul.

A creepy smile played on his unseen face as he raised his sword and stabbed me.

I felt my soul leaving my body, and then I opened my eyes.

A sigh of relief escaped my lips. I looked down at my chest—it was perfectly fine. Even after that horrifying dream, I still felt tired, so I decided to lie back for five more minutes.

Nearly two hours passed before I grew weary of sleeping. Rubbing my eyes, I made my way to the bathroom.

Thump.

My eyes were still blurry when I crashed into a wall instead of the bathroom door, but I soon found my way. After turning on the tap, I splashed some water on my face.

Finally, my gaze landed on the mirror.

"Handsome, brown eyes, black hair, fair skin—you look cool, Lucas." I smiled at my reflection.

But then realization struck me like a hammer. Brown eyes? Black hair? Fair skin?

"What the hell?" Curses flew from my mouth as I looked back into the mirror. The face before me was indeed handsome, but it wasn't mine.

The face resembled that of a prince.

"Shit, shit, shit." Based on those features, I knew exactly whose face it was.

It was none other than Kai, The minor side character of the novel that I wrote. My heart raced again, but this time not from fear—more like a mix of confusion and disbelief.

I leaned closer to the mirror, my hands trembling as I touched the surface, half-expecting the reflection to shatter. "How is this even possible?" I muttered, trying to piece together what had happened. I was just a writer, a mere mortal with a laptop and an overactive imagination. I didn't sign up for an identity swap with my fictional character!