Cherreads

Main Character Energy: Activated

faeni
I used to think dying would be so dramatic. You know, slow-motion plummet, sobbing farewell, perhaps a weird light in the horizon. But no, I choked on a gummy bear and woke up in my unfinished fantasy novel. Yeah. "My" book. The one I penned in a delirious fog during finals week. It was to be a hobby, not a new mailing address. Now I'm stuck in a kingdom I hardly recall plotting, among characters I didn't bother to provide with actual personalities, and for some reason, I'm not even the hero—I'm just. present. A background extra with complete insight into impending betrayals, magically convenient items placed conveniently nearby, and a love subplot that certainly needs rework. With the villain suspiciously appealing, the heroine AWOL, and the plot disintegrating quicker than my GPA does in midterms, I've got two choices: 1. Let the story go on (and pray I don't die again). 2. Take over the narrative before it all collapses. Yeah, I don't possess a sword or a prophecy—but I *do* have inside information, questionable intelligence, and an intimate, emotional connection to caffeine. This wasn't the tale I was intending to share. But now? It's the one I must survive.
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