The ring light flickered off, plunging Mara's face into a blessed, if temporary, darkness. Five hours. Five long hours of smiling, posing, and pretending that the new line of foundation was the single most exciting thing to ever happen.
The perks of being a small-time influencer weren't lost on her—free makeup shipments, PR packages that padded her shelf, and a tiny cut from sales when followers used her discount code. She didn't get paid per video; the brand sent products and measured success in clicks and purchases, and her reward came as a few percentages on what actually sold. It wasn't much, but it bought her the small comforts. The occasional decent lunch, a new pair of earbuds, a steam sale or two. Still, sometimes the performance wore her thin. It felt as if her face might crack from all the manufactured enthusiasm.
She peeled herself away from the greenscreen, her lips still curved into the remnants of a smile that hadn't reached her eyes in hours. In the phone screen, her reflection stared back, a heavily made-up version of herself, courtesy of the cosmetic brand. Layers upon layers of product.
Mara had done everything herself— recording, editing, the full production of tonight's content. Being an influencer was a one-woman show, and tonight's performance had drained every last ounce of energy from her.
The clock mocked her exhaustion: 12:03 AM. Barely enough time to unwind before collapsing into bed.
And yet, her fingers were already reaching for her phone. The lure of the digital world was impossible to resist. A familiar icon glowed back at her: Realms of Fantasy.
Gaming had always been Mara's true thing, long before the PR packages and discount codes. Before she learned how to craft thumbnails and track click-through rates, she had been the kid who lost herself in fantastical worlds, slaying dragons and laughing with guildmates she'd never met in person. Even now, balancing college and content, gaming reminded her who she used to be.
Her modest online popularity had perks—extra money from sales meant she could finally buy the flashy skins she'd always wanted and flex a little among her friends. She wasn't one of those influencers rolling in millions. She was popular to some people, enough to get freebies and early access, but still very much scraping by on scholarships and side income
It still wasn't an easy life—but she wasn't about to complain.
Hours slipped away in a blur of raids and chatter, adrenaline surging as she and her guildmates strategized against near-impossible odds. So engrossed was Mara that time ceased to exist, until a glance at the clock jolted her out of the moment: 3:17 AM.
Panic flared. She had an early class at ten on Saturday—her professor had missed a lecture earlier in the week and tacked on a make-up session that nobody wanted but everyone had to attend. It wasn't glamorous, but missing it could mean falling behind in a course she needed. She couldn't risk showing up half-asleep.
With a reluctant sigh, Mara logged out, her final message—"Gotta sleep now, 10 AM class :/"—appearing in the chat before guilt could take root. The phone landed on her nightstand to charge it. It's glow fading as she buried herself under the covers. Sleep claimed her almost instantly.
But when she woke, the world was no longer her own.
Her eyes fluttered open to dim light filtering through heavy velvet curtains. This wasn't her cramped studio flat with its thrift-store couch and tower of empty shipping boxes.
The sleek lines of modern furniture, plush rugs, and carefully organized shelves of plushies and beauty products had vanished. In their place stood antique furnishings, ornate tapestries, and the suffocating grandeur of another era. The air smelled faintly of flowers and old woods, something different from the artificial nature smell she's used to everyday.
Mara sat up in the massive four-poster bed, her fingertips brushing against intricate carvings in the wood. The sheets were heavy silk, cool against her skin. The softness of the silk felt too real to be a vivid dream. Which, she was lowkey scared too admit.
Her bare feet sank into the thick pile of a Persian rug as she swung her legs to the floor. The room around her was vast, larger than her small living room, its shadowed corners and dark wood more suited to a historical drama.
Driven by unease and a rapidly growing curiosity, Mara crossed the floor and pushed open the door. The hallway beyond made her jaw drop.
The scale of the place was staggering. This wasn't just a house—it was a castle. The hallway stretched out before Mara like an endless corridor, lined with portraits of stern-looking men and women in elaborate costumes. Suits of armor stood watch in alcoves, their polished surfaces reflecting the dim flickering light of the torches.
Maids moved quickly about their duties. Knights in gleaming armor patrolled with an air of vigilance, swords at their sides.
But Mara's appearance in the corridor hadn't gone unnoticed by them either. Every head turned as they slowly realized.
The maids slowed, their eyes widening in open surprise. A knight stationed further down the hall stiffened, his helmet turning just slightly as though to confirm that what he was seeing was real. Even some of the servants who scurried past cast furtive glances at her and make a quiet gasp of surprise.
Mara blinked at them, her pulse quickening. This wasn't just some trick of her imagination; people here saw her—and reacted as though her presence mattered.
It wasn't just a dream—it was too elaborate for that. The sheer detail of it all was overwhelming, like a full-blown historical reenactment. Or maybe she had stumbled onto the set of some period drama. Even then, no set could capture this level of authenticity.
Her mind raced to find an explanation.
Is this some kind of prank content my friend makes?
There was something about this place, something different, something that defied logic.
Enough.
Mara had no time for adventure. She had a meeting to get to, a career to maintain, a life to live. This medieval fantasy charade was fun and all, but if it was going to mess with her schedule, then what's in it for?
She turned back and marched into the bedroom, determined to wake herself by force of will alone. Crawling into the massive bed, she yanked the silken covers over her head and squeezed her eyes shut.
"Wake up, Mara," she muttered, whispering the words like a mantra. "Wake up, wake up, wake up..."
She imagined her penthouse, her messy bedroom, the comforting glow of her phone charging on the nightstand. Slowly, her body went slack, and she drifted into unconsciousness again.
But when her eyes opened next, nothing had changed. The velvet curtains still framed the windows, the antique furniture still loomed in the corners. The only difference was the sunlight, now higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the room.
Her heart pounded. This couldn't be happening. It had to be a dream. And yet no matter how hard she willed herself awake, the world around her remained unshaken.
Stumbling out of bed on unsteady legs, she went to the window and peered outside. Her breath caught in her throat.
Gardens stretched for acres, manicured and immaculate. Water fountain sparkled in the sunlight. In the courtyard below, knights trained on horseback, their swords flashing as steel clashed against steel.
Mara slammed her forehead against the cool glass as if hurting her head would wake her up. "Ah... fuck," she whispered. "This shit is real..." Reality crashed over her in a cold wave of dread. She was trapped. Trapped in some historical nightmare with no way out.
A tiny, selfish grin flickered over Mara's face. No Saturday class—yes! She actually let herself believe it for a hot second.
Then the grin fell away. Wait. Where the hell was she? The fairy-garden courtyard, the knights, the silk sheets — none of it belonged to her tiny studio, her sagging couch, or the stack of unopened packages by the door. If this was real, was she stuck here forever? Did some questline or cursed ritual have to be completed before she could log back out? The whole thought made her stomach twist.
She didn't want to be anyone's chosen heroine. She didn't want quests, prophecies, or destiny spiel. She just wanted her normal life—classes, content, ramen at midnight. 'Please don't let me be a freaky villainess, or some freak's heroine' she muttered under her breath. 'Honestly, I'll take boring—like, "normal lady" boring—or even princess-boring. Anything but "doomed antagonist."'
Turning away from the window, Mara swept the room with her gaze, her mind already grasping at straws. She needed answers. She needed to figure out how to return to her world, her life. But where could she even begin? She knew nothing of this place, its people, or its rules. She was an outsider, adrift in the unknown.
Then she heard a knock. Sharp, deliberate. The sound made her flinch, her heart rate spiking.
"Princess?" a voice called from the other side of the door, smooth and deferential. "Are you... Coming out?"
Mara closed her eyes and let out a slow breath that sounds like half-laugh.
She could feel the moment as a line on the ground she'd just stepped over. This—this was where everything had gone off the rails. Her brain supplied a thousand possible consequences in the span of two heartbeats.
Do I act like I belong? Do I freak out? Do I fake sleep and hope they go away?
Do I open the door and ask for Wi-Fi?
She pinched the bridge of her nose, half-grinning despite herself. Great. From struggling student-influencer to potential monarch. She wanted to cry. Less, she wanted to scream.
Either way, the door would open. The world was already moving. Mara straightened, plastered a face on that felt like a costume, and went to meet whatever performance this place was expecting of her.