###chapter1-the_page_that_shouldn't_exit.
The first thing she noticed was the smell of rain.
Not the soft, nostalgic scent drifting through an open window — this was damp stone and cold air, heavy and unfamiliar.
Then came the pain.
A sharp, pulsing ache behind her eyes.
Christa opened them slowly.
The ceiling above her was wrong.
Dark wooden beams. A flickering chandelier. Walls painted in muted gray instead of the white plaster she remembered from her apartment.
Her apartment.
The thought came and went like a slipping thread.
She pushed herself upright.
The bed beneath her was too large, the sheets too heavy, the silence too deep.
No traffic outside.
No phone notifications.
No humming refrigerator.
Just quiet.
Too quiet.
"...Where am I?"
Her voice sounded weaker than expected — softer, almost fragile.
Across the room stood a tall mirror framed in black wood. Something about it felt deliberate, like it had been placed there to be noticed.
She swung her legs off the bed.
The floor was ice-cold marble.
Step by step, she walked toward the mirror.
And froze.
The girl staring back at her wasn't her.
Same age — maybe nineteen — but pale, elegant, and unfamiliar. Long black hair fell over her shoulders in smooth waves. Her eyes were darker, sharper. Someone who looked like they belonged in oil paintings and candlelit hallways.
Not someone who stayed up until 2 a.m. reading web novels on her phone.
Her fingers touched her face.
The reflection did the same.
"No…"
Her voice trembled.
"No, no, no…"
Then the memory hit.
Not hers.
Someone else's.
A flood of images poured in — grand corridors, cold dinners, whispered insults, servants avoiding eye contact.
And a name.
Lady Elira Venscroft
christa staggered back from the mirror, heart pounding.
"That's… the villain."
The words escaped her before she realized she had spoken.
Because she knew this place.
Not from life.
From a novel.
A thriller she had finished reading just three nights ago.
A story filled with betrayals, political games, quiet murders, and characters who smiled while planning each other's downfall.
And Lady Elira Venscroft?
She was the first to die.
Not dramatically.
Not heroically.
Poisoned.
Alone.
Forgotten by Chapter Five.
Christa's breathing grew shallow.
"This isn't funny…"
But the room didn't change.
The chandelier still flickered.
The cold air still pressed against her skin.
And the memories in her head weren't fading.
They were settling.
Becoming real.
A knock came at the door.
Three slow taps.
She jumped.
"Lady Elira," a voice called gently. "You requested tea."
Her heart skipped.
That line.
That exact line.
It was written in Chapter One of the novel.
The morning everything began.
The morning a minor character delivered tea that wasn't meant to be drunk.
Christa's eyes slowly moved to the bedside table.
A small empty space waited there.
Waiting for a teacup.
Her stomach twisted.
If she remembered correctly, nothing obvious happened after the tea was served.
The poison worked slowly.
Quietly.
Like the story itself.
Another knock.
"Lady Elira?"
Christa swallowed.
Her mind raced.
If this world followed the novel exactly…
Then someone in this house wanted Elira dead.
And they had already begun.
The doorknob started to turn.
Christa spoke before she could hesitate.
"Leave it outside."
Silence.
A pause long enough to feel dangerous.
Then—
"Yes, my lady.
Footsteps retreated down the hallway.
Christa stood frozen for several seconds.
Then she moved quickly to the door and opened it.
A silver tray sat on the floor.
A porcelain teacup.
Steam still rising.
She stared at it.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
The story had begun.
But something was already different.
In the novel…
Elira drank the tea without thinking.
Christa slowly closed the door.
Locked it.
And whispered into the empty room:
"I'm not dying in Chapter Five."
Outside, thunder rolled across the sky.
And somewhere in the mansion, unseen by her, someone smiled.
[End of the chapter 1]