Chapter 1

Zylith sprawled across her bed, her legs lazily crossed as she scrolled through TikTok, one arm dangling off the side, occasionally reaching for the can of Pringles beside her. The glow of her phone screen illuminated her face in the dimly lit room, reflecting the mindless entertainment she was indulging in. Her semester break had officially begun, and for once, she allowed herself the luxury of doing absolutely nothing.

Her room, usually a battleground of clothes, books, and forgotten coffee cups, was now surprisingly tidy—a direct result of last night's exhausting cleaning spree. The scent of lavender air freshener still lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the artificial tang of cheese powder from her chips.

Her gaze lazily drifted toward her newly organized bookshelf. No Breakthrough sat at the top, almost mocking her from its pristine spot. She wrinkled her nose at it.

"What a ridiculous book," she muttered, shoving another chip into her mouth.

The novel had left her emotionally battered, the kind of story that gripped your soul, shredded it, and then casually tossed the remains aside. It followed Selena, the protagonist blessed (or cursed, really) with divine powers, tangled in a web of tragic romances with four obsessive male leads. Every route led to heartbreak, betrayal, or worse.

Zylith scoffed. Who even writes this stuff?

Shaking her head, she absentmindedly scrolled past a meme about being reincarnated into a fantasy world. "It's all fun and games until you're the one stuck in it."

She smirked, double-tapping the post before tossing her phone onto her pillow.

Outside, the sky had turned a dusky orange, streaks of pink and gold bleeding into the horizon. The muffled sounds of plates clinking and her mother humming signaled that dinner was ready. She stretched, yawning as she rolled off the bed, dusting the Pringles crumbs off her sweatpants before making her way downstairs.

---

The dining room was warm and familiar, the rich scent of garlic and simmering spices wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. Her mother had set out a steaming bowl of stew, along with fresh bread that still had that just-out-of-the-oven crispness. Her father sat at the head of the table, newspaper folded beside him, while her younger brother absently scrolled through his phone between bites.

She slid into her seat, grabbing a spoon. "Smells great."

Her mother beamed. "Of course it does. I made it."

Her father cleared his throat. "How's the break so far? Doing something useful, I hope?"

"Absolutely. I've been thoroughly studying the fine art of relaxation," she said, stuffing a piece of bread into her mouth.

Her younger brother snorted. "You mean rotting in bed and scrolling TikTok?"

Zylith shot him a look. "Same thing."

Her father sighed but didn't press the matter. Instead, he glanced at her over his glasses, his expression shifting into something more serious. "Have you given any more thought to your post-graduation plans?"

The question wasn't unexpected, but it still made her pause. She set down her spoon and nodded. "Yeah. I want to work overseas."

Her father frowned. "Isn't there a company here that's just as good?"

"Dad, I've already explained. This is where the opportunity lies."

Her mother, ever the peacekeeper, sighed but smiled faintly. "We just worry, that's all. Moving far away, away from family… it's a big step."

Zylith swallowed back the twinge of guilt. She knew they meant well, but this was her dream—and she wasn't going to let hesitation hold her back.

"I know. But I've thought it through," she assured them. "It's what I want."

Her father leaned back, silent for a moment before nodding. "Alright. Just promise us you'll be careful."

"Of course."

Her mother reached over, gently squeezing her hand. "Whatever happens, just remember—you always have a home here."

Zylith smiled, feeling the warmth of their support despite their reservations. She would chase her dream, no matter where it led her.

For now, though, she focused on enjoying her break—because she had no idea just how drastically her life was about to change.

---

"This Wasn't the Story" - Chapter One (Extended & More Humorous)

Three months flew by in a blur of late-night study sessions, final exams, and the nerve-wracking anticipation of adulting. Graduation day came and went, a flash of cameras, hugs, and overly enthusiastic relatives telling Zylith how proud they were—as if she hadn't spent half the semester procrastinating assignments until the last minute.

And yet, despite the chaos, life was falling into place. She had landed a prestigious job with an impressive salary—the kind that made her father begrudgingly admit that maybe moving overseas wasn't the worst idea after all. Everything was perfect.

That night, after an exhausting day of meetings and staring at spreadsheets for what felt like an eternity, Zylith collapsed onto her bed, scrolling aimlessly through her phone.

TikTok. Twitter. TikTok again. Sleepy doom-scrolling at its finest.

Eventually, her eyes drooped, her phone slipped from her grasp, and she surrendered to sleep.

---

Something was wrong.

Her mattress was too soft. Way too soft. Not in the comfortable, cloud-like way, but in the "I'm sinking into luxury I can't afford" kind of way.

With a groggy frown, she shifted, feeling the silken sheets beneath her fingers. Silk? Her blanket was supposed to be a questionable cotton blend that she had impulsively bought during a sale.

Zylith's eyes snapped open.

She was greeted by sunlight streaming through thick, opulent curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. A very large, very unfamiliar room.

Her brain short-circuited.

"What the…" she mumbled, sitting up stiffly.

The bed was massive—a king-size monstrosity with plush pillows embroidered with intricate designs. The surrounding furniture was carved from rich, dark wood, boasting elegant, old-fashioned details. The faint scent of roses and freshly polished surfaces filled the air.

She wasn't in her apartment.

She wasn't in any place she recognized.

Slowly, she turned her head and spotted a silver tray beside her. A goblet of water sat upon it, along with a bowl of fresh fruit that looked straight out of a royal feast.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the goblet, noting its weight and the way the metal gleamed under the sunlight. This was real.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she looked down at her hands—slim, delicate, and entirely unfamiliar.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

She flung herself out of bed so fast that the goblet clattered onto the floor, spilling water across the expensive-looking rug. She barely noticed. Across the room, an ornate mirror rested on a vanity.

She staggered toward it, gripping the edge with shaking hands before tilting it up.

A stranger stared back at her.

Long black hair. Striking blue eyes. Porcelain skin.

Zylith blinked.

The reflection blinked back.

She set the mirror down. Turned away. Sat back on the bed. Then, very calmly, pulled the covers over her head.

"It's just a dream," she mumbled into the sheets.

She shut her eyes. Took a deep breath. Counted to three.

Then peeked out again.

The fancy ceiling was still there. The luxurious room hadn't disappeared.

Okay. No big deal. Maybe she was just having one of those ultra-realistic dreams. She just needed to wake up.

Pinching herself? Didn't work.

Slapping herself? Stung like hell, but still no dice.

"Wake up," she growled, shaking herself. "Wake. Up."

No matter what she did, nothing changed.

" AAAAAAAAH ! "

The door burst open, and two women in black dresses and white aprons rushed in, their faces pale with alarm.

"My lady! Are you alright?" one of them gasped, hurrying toward her.

Zylith's mind reeled. Who? What? Where?

Her throat was dry as she stared at the two strangers hovering over her. "Who—what—where am I?" she croaked.

The maids exchanged glances, clearly worried.

"My lady, you're at the Grand Duke's estate. Are you feeling unwell?"

The Grand Duke's estate.

Zylith felt her brain short-circuit for the second time.

This couldn't be real. This wasn't happening.

"Nope," she blurted. "Nope, nope, nope."

She grabbed the empty tray from the bedside table and whacked it against her head.

The maids shrieked.

"My lady, stop!"

The tray clattered to the floor. Zylith wobbled slightly, a dull ache spreading across her forehead. Then she felt something warm trickle down her lip.

Blood.

Oh, great. She had given herself a bloody nose.

One of the maids shrieked again, while the other bolted out of the room, yelling for help.

Zylith groaned, flopping backward onto the absurdly soft pillows.

"This," she muttered to herself, "is the worst fever dream ever."

---

By the time evening rolled around, Zylith sat on the edge of the bed, her face pale but composed. It had taken hours to convince the maids to stop fussing over her so-called "head injury." She had never felt better, but they looked at her like she was on her deathbed.

Now, as she stared out the massive window, watching the sun dip behind the sprawling estate gardens, reality was finally sinking in.

This wasn't a dream.

She didn't know how or why, but she had somehow ended up in a different body, a different world, and—judging by the architecture—a completely different time.

Zylith swallowed hard.

She thought back to the book.

No Breakthrough.

She could feel the color draining from her face.

"No," she whispered. "This can't be real. Not that book. Of all the possible stories—why this one?"

Her reflection in the window smirked back at her, as if mocking her plight.