The hospital room was quiet, broken only by the steady beeping of the monitors and the soft rustle of curtains stirred by the morning breeze. A thin line of sunlight slipped through the gap, touching Ophelia's face. Her blonde hair was spread across the pillow, her lips parted slightly as she breathed.
The silence ended with the buzz of a notification. Ophelia stirred, annoyed at the interruption, and reached for her phone on the nightstand.
Her expression shifted the moment she read the screen. A new chapter of her favorite book was out. The irritation vanished, replaced by excitement. She sat up quickly and opened the update, diving into the words as if the hospital bed had disappeared.
"What? The protagonist chose the count? How could she pick him over the one who truly cared? Unbelievable!"
Her frustration built as she scrolled, ready to leave a furious comment. But then, pain struck. Sharp, burning, merciless. Her chest tightened, her body trembled, and she could barely breathe.
Not again. Not like this.
Ophelia's hand shook as she reached for the emergency button. A doctor rushed in, adjusted her medication—but the pain only grew. Darkness closed in, swallowing the room, swallowing her.
She thought it was the end.
But when she opened her eyes, everything was different. The crushing weight was gone. Her body felt light, free, almost unfamiliar. She was lying on grass, soft beneath her hands, with clean air filling her lungs. For the first time in years, she felt no pain.
Ophelia looked at her skin—smooth, unblemished, almost glowing. She raised her hands, staring at them as if they belonged to someone else. The movements were hers, yet they felt foreign.
Her hair, once golden, now shimmered a pale platinum, cascading in waves. When she touched her head, her fingers brushed against lupine ears. She froze. Shock rippled through her, yet fear never came. Instead, there was an odd sense of belonging.
Then, a rush of images forced itself into her mind—unknown places, unfamiliar names, traditions that somehow made sense. A society where women were revered, where polyandry was the rule, where warriors pledged themselves to protect them.
Knowledge settled inside her as if it had always been there. Impossible, yet undeniable.
For years, Ophelia had devoured romance novels about heroines loved by many, about men who competed for their devotion. She had dreamed of it, longed for it—safe within the pages of fiction.
And now, here she was. Living it.
Her heart pounded.
Was this a gift? Or a trap?