Chapter 1: Waking Up In A Strange World

"Thalina, wake up!"

The shrill voice ripped through her dreams like a dagger, dragging her out of blissful oblivion.

"Huh? What—"

A sudden splash of icy water hit her face, drenching her hair and clothes.

"What the actual hell?!" she sputtered, gasping as the chill clawed its way down her spine.

Her eyes flew open, locking onto the smirking maid standing over her with an empty bucket.

Thalina blinked. Then blinked again. Her gaze darted around the massive room.

Smooth walls, glowing with a faint blue shimmer, stretched out around her.

The space was furnished minimally but screamed luxury—the kind that said, If you have to ask, you can't afford it.

She barely had time to admire the strange, hovering orb casting soft light over the room before—Smack!

Her head snapped to the side, her cheek stinging. For a moment, there was only silence. Then, a single thought surfaced.

Oh, it's on.

"You did not just slap me," Thalina growled, her voice low and dangerous.

Before the maid could even blink, Thalina grabbed her by the hair.

With a strength born of rage (and maybe a little insanity), she dragged the girl toward the nearest wall.

Thud. The maid's face met the smooth surface.

"You dare hit me?!" Thalina snarled, slamming her again. Thud. "Do you know who I am?!"

Wait. Who was she again?

The maid's muffled whimpers barely registered as the door burst open with a bang.

"Enough!"

Thalina froze, panting. Her grip loosened, and the maid scurried away, clutching her bruised face—already starting to heal.

Thalina turned toward the voice and immediately regretted it.

Standing in the doorway was the ugliest woman she'd ever seen. Blue skin, bulbous features, and veins glowing faintly beneath translucent flesh.

It was like someone had taken a toad, painted it blue, and gave it a bad attitude.

But that wasn't the weirdest part.

Thalina glanced down at her own hands. Blue. Her skin shimmered faintly under the light.

Her jaw dropped. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

"What is the meaning of this?" the toad-woman snapped.

The maid—Avaris, apparently—burst into dramatic sobs. "She attacked me! Said she was too pretty to work and—"

"Thalina," the toad-woman barked, "is this true?"

Thalina blinked. Then laughed, a little hysterically. "Oh, I've lost it. This is it. I've finally gone mad."

The toad-woman glared. "Pull yourself together. Clean up and report for punishment."

As the door slammed shut, Thalina caught her reflection in the glossy wall.

Blue. Alien. What the hell was happening?.

And I bet that's the exact question running through your head too—what was happening!?

Well, long story short: Thalina is—or rather, was—a struggling author. You know the type.

Living off instant noodles, hoping the landlord wouldn't knock on the door too hard, and clinging to one big dream: writing the novel that would change her life.

And guess what? That novel? Yeah, it's the one you're reading right now.

She poured her heart and soul into this story. Skipped meals, skipped sleep—she even skipped her friend's birthday party to finish drafting that one steamy scene.

Her plan? Go viral, sign a big deal, and maybe finally afford the "good" ramen.

Instead, the universe decided to throw her a plot twist. Now, here she is, inside her own novel.

As I speak, the poor girl still has no clue what's going on.

One second, she's in her dingy apartment, cursing her editor's rejection email, and the next, she's blue, angry, and slamming a maid's face into a wall.

Honestly, not the glow-up she was hoping for.

Thalina ran out of her room, looking like a disaster zone in human form—her hair wild, clothes wrinkled, and her face probably still holding the shock from the chaos she just experienced.

But what lay before her? Oh, let me tell you. It was something else.

The castle's interior looked like it had been grown from the very earth itself—organic, fluid, alive even.

The walls emitted a soft glow, like they were storing magical energy for a later date—maybe for when the castle ran out of electricity or wanted to throw a rave.

Doors opened and closed with nothing more than a simple touch, like they had a mind of their own. It was the kind of place that screamed magical but also whispered don't touch the walls, they might bite.

But the real show? The workers. Thalina couldn't help but notice how… efficient they were.

Every movement was precise and perfect, like they'd been programmed for maximum productivity.

And, oh, the clothing. Let's just say, it was minimal, translucent, and left very little to the imagination.

Fabric flowed like water, hugging their forms in just the right places—if you caught my drift.

Jewelry was everywhere, sparkling with magical significance, as if they had to wear it to remind people how important they were.

Thalina couldn't help but wonder: Was it the jewelry that made them important, or just the fact that they looked like they walked out of a fantasy romance novel?

But here's where things started clicking for her. The workers—check. The weird glowing walls—check. The blue skin—check. She was in her own damn novel.

"Oh hell nah," Thalina muttered, panic rising in her chest. She needed to get out of here, like, yesterday. This wasn't part of the plan.

That's when she saw him.

No, scratch that. She saw it. The most jaw-droppingly, heart-stoppingly perfect man—or, alien, whatever.

He was tall, built like he bench-pressed entire planets, with curly hair that looked like it had been styled by the gods themselves. His jawline?

Probably a weapon of mass destruction. Those eyes? If she stared too long, she'd probably be arrested for indecent thoughts.

Their eyes locked, and she could see the surprise flicker in his. Her heart skipped a beat as her brain scrambled to put the pieces together. Wait. Wait. She knew this guy.

"Lord Zorath," the worker called out.

Thalina froze, her blood running cold. That name… She had written this character. Lord Zorath—one of the lords. One of the dangerous, deadly lords.

And not the kind of guy a maid with a death wish should go anywhere near. Ok maybe she was over exaggerating.

"Lord Zorath," she whispered, her voice barely audible. This was it. This was how she died—again.

"Fuck my life," she muttered, and before her brain could process anything else, her legs were already carrying her back to her room.

Once inside, panic took over. She needed a disguise, stat. Thalina frantically began searching her room like a tornado in human form. The plot twists she had written into her story—oh, they were coming back to haunt her. And not in a cute, book-club-discussion kind of way.

The female lead had a makeup box, for some godforsaken reason, and now Thalina needed it to save her life. Why had she written this in? Was she subconsciously planning for this? Probably not, but hey, who could resist adding unnecessary drama to their own story?

Thalina finally found the damn thing. The makeup box. It was a thing of beauty—though, to be fair, the real female lead never actually used it. Spoiler alert: She was too busy being perfect to bother with such trivialities. But fate, as it turns out, had a wicked sense of humor.

With the makeup box in her hands, Thalina got to work. She smeared spots and marks on her face, making herself look like a walking, talking disaster zone. Hey, if she was going down, she might as well look the part.

Minutes passed. Finally, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was still red—luckily, that was a normal thing for these creatures. She heard a knock at the door, and her heart skipped a beat. She knew who it was. Oh, of course it was him.

The knock grew louder, more impatient. Thalina could've sworn she heard him muttering curses outside. What was it with these lords and their inability to mind their own business?

Rolling her eyes, she dragged herself to the door and opened it, trying to avoid his gaze. "Good morning, my lord," Thalina said through gritted teeth, trying not to sound too irritated. Zorath was standing right in front of her, peeking inside her room like he had all the time in the universe to inspect her space.

"Is there something you need, my lord?" she asked, a little too sweetly, the irritation barely masked in her voice.

And honestly, why was she even irritated? She was the one who'd written this mess. She'd made him this persistent, possessive, and annoyingly attractive. What was wrong with her?

Zorath finally seemed to focus on her, his gaze flicking to her hair. "Yes," he said, eyeing her red locks with some confusion. "There was a maid that walked in here. She had red hair."

Thalina's heart skipped a beat. Oh, no.

His brow furrowed as he looked at her face, noticing the marks she'd hastily drawn to disguise herself. His eyes narrowed, a clear sign of disapproval. "But you're definitely not the one," he added, like he was trying to clear up some misunderstanding, but it only sounded more smug than apologetic.

Thalina could've sworn she rolled her eyes, but she kept it in check. Of course. She'd written him to be this infuriating. Why had she made him so smug?

"Well, I think you're mistaken, my lord," she said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "There is no other maid here. Just me. Maybe you saw wrongly."

Zorath blinked at her. Her behavior was odd. Usually, females would be falling over themselves just to get his attention. They'd be blushing, giggling, trying to touch him or his brothers. But not her. No, this one was different.

"But I saw—" Zorath started, then abruptly stopped himself. He scratched the back of his neck, clearly uncertain now. Maybe this maid was right. Maybe he had seen someone else.

After a long pause, he sighed. "Well, I'm sorry, miss." He gave her a stiff apology, his voice gruff, before turning on his heel and walking away.

Thalina watched him go, her heart still hammering in her chest. Great. Now what? She was stuck in her own damn novel, and the main antagonist had just apologized to her.

But then another thing clicked.

Thalina froze, the weight of the realization crashing down on her. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

She wasn't supposed to be woken up like that, drenched in cold water.

There was never supposed to be an argument between her and that maid, let alone the kind of chaos that had unfolded.

But the worst part—the part that hit her hardest—was Zorath. She wasn't supposed to meet him like this. Not yet, not under these circumstances.

Had her own story… had it finally turned on her?

The question echoed in her mind, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe. The words never should've happened like this.

She was supposed to be a shadow in the background of her novel, not center stage. Not here.

Her heart pounded in her chest. She wasn't sure if she could fix this, or if it was already too late.