"Princess!"
"Princess!"
"Gosh, my head feels like it's going to split open. Can you keep your mouth shut for just a second?" Ash groaned, her voice hoarse and eyes barely open as she struggled to sit up from the bed.
Her hand instinctively reached for her pounding head, which throbbed like a war drum, and her limbs felt like they'd been twisted into knots. Pain crawled along every inch of her body. It was, by far, the worst way she'd ever woken up—if she could even call this 'waking up.'
"Princess? Are you alright?" a panicked voice called again. A pair of delicate hands reached out to stabilize her, preventing her from collapsing back onto the soft sheets.
Ash flinched at the touch but didn't resist. The world spun. She tried opening her eyes but was met with dizzying lights and nausea. A groan escaped her lips.
"Damn that drink," she muttered, cursing the sharp, floral liquor she vaguely remembered sipping. "I swear I'm never drinking again..."
Ash pinched the bridge of her nose, only to freeze. Something was off. Her fingers didn't feel like hers—slimmer, softer. Her skin glowed unnaturally in the light. And the voice calling her…
"Ha! Ha! Princess?" Ash chuckled, her laugh laced with confusion. "Jean, why do you sound so… gentle?"
Wait...
She opened her eyes again, this time forcing them to stay open despite the dizziness. What she saw made her entire body freeze.
The woman before her looked exactly like Jean—her real-life best friend. But not quite. This one had a heart-shaped mole on her neck, just like Jane, the loyal maid she wrote about in her story. The resemblance was uncanny. Identical, even. But it wasn't Jean's fiery aura that radiated from her—it was gentleness, innocence, warmth. She looked like Jean... if Jean had grown up inside a fairytale.
"I must be dreaming," Ash whispered, then pinched her hand—hard.
"OOOUUUCCCHHH!" she yelped, her eyes widening as pain seared up her arm. She stared at the red mark blooming on her skin.
Real.
She wasn't dreaming. She wasn't hallucinating.
She was... here.
"Where the heck am I!?" she blurted out, eyes darting across the lavish bedroom. Gold trim. Silk curtains. A towering canopy bed. Crystal chandeliers. It was the very image of royal opulence—straight out of the pages of her book.
"Princess? Did you lose your mind? Should I get the palace doctor?"
Ash took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. Her instincts screamed to panic, to demand answers—but instead, she tried to ground herself. This wasn't just any setting. This was her setting. Her story. Her world. The one she had written from nothing but ideas and dreams.
"I'm in my novel..." she whispered.
She turned slowly, scanning the room once more, until her eyes landed on a polished mirror across the room. She got off the bed, stumbling slightly, Jane rushing to her side.
Her reflection nearly made her stop breathing.
She looked like herself—but not quite. Her features were subtly enhanced—sharper, regal. Her long hair glowed with unnatural shine, and her dress shimmered with delicate embroidery. She looked like royalty.
She looked like Princess Amishta.
Her lips trembled, a laugh bubbling from her throat as she turned to Jane. Jane, who was technically Jean, was staring at her with tearful eyes, confusion and concern etched into every line of her face.
Ash blinked back tears. If Jane really was here, then she wasn't entirely alone. Even if the faces were different, the soul was the same. She recognized the sincerity in Jane's eyes—the same look Jean always had when she was worried for her.
"Jane... you're actually really beautiful, you know?" Ash said, a wistful smile tugging at her lips.
Jane blinked, stunned. Then she blushed furiously, ducking her head to hide her face.
"P-Princess, don't tease me like that!"
Ash laughed for the first time—really laughed—since she woke up. It was absurd. Unbelievable. But also strangely… comforting.
"So, tell me what happened. Why did I pass out?"
Jane's demeanor immediately darkened.
"Princess, it was Consort Victoria. She tried to drug you. She planned to offer you to the First Young Master of the Lincoln House. But the First Prince found out and saved you. Consort Victoria is in the dungeon now—no, she's been sentenced. The King was furious. He ordered her execution by poison."
Ash stilled. She remembered writing this scene. It had been one of the earliest turning points for Amishta, the moment she realized just how twisted palace politics could be. But now, experiencing it firsthand, it felt heavier. Realer.
Consort Victoria was always written as cruel and jealous, but Ash couldn't help but feel a pang of discomfort at how easily her life was snuffed out.
Still… she was safe. And Jane—Jean—was safe. That was what mattered most.
She turned to Jane, studying her face again.
The loyalty, the fear, the innocence. She remembered writing Jane's tragic end in the book—a heartbreaking sacrifice to protect the Princess. But now…
Now, she could change it.
"I'm sorry, Jane," she thought silently. "I won't let you die this time. I'll give you freedom. A new life. But please, stay by my side a little longer. I still need you."
The sound of trumpets blaring outside startled both women.
"The King has arrived!" a guard announced.
The room suddenly filled with the sound of heavy boots and rushing footsteps. The door burst open.
"Amishta!" the booming voice echoed, deep and commanding. "Are you alright?"
Ash turned slowly—and her breath caught in her throat.
There he was. King Philip. Her father in this world.
But more than that—he looked exactly like her real dad. His warm, tired eyes. The way his lips twitched when trying not to look too emotional. His arms opened wide.
She didn't hesitate.
"Father!" she cried, throwing herself into his embrace.
King Philip caught her instantly, pulling her close with trembling arms.
"I've already avenged you," he whispered against her hair. "Don't cry. Everything's fine now. I'll assign more guards. I'll—"
"Father," Ash interrupted, pulling back to look at him. "I'm fine. Really. Just… I'm so lucky to have you."
His eyes softened. "You'll always be my lucky charm. The day you were born… your mother and I knew we were blessed."
She smiled through her tears. "Thank you… for being here."
They spent the rest of the evening talking like they were the only people in the world. It was strange, surreal, but also beautiful. A piece of her old world nestled in this new one.
When night fell, and King Philip returned to his chambers, Ash lay on the bed staring at the ceiling.
"I died… and ended up in my book," she whispered to herself. "Maybe… maybe this is a second chance. A life where I can protect the people I love. A life where I have a father again."
Her eyes burned. Her heart ached.
"I wrote this world," she whispered. "But now… I'll rewrite it."
She clenched her fists, eyes fierce.
"No more deaths. No more regrets. I'll protect Jane. I'll protect Father. I'll protect this kingdom—even if I have to go against the heroine I created."
A laugh escaped her lips.
"Sorry, protagonist. This time, I'll be the one who wins."
She walked to the mirror one last time and stared at her reflection.
"No more Ash," she whispered. "From now on… I am Princess Amishta, the only princess of Abberhyn Kingdom."
A smirk danced on her lips as she turned back toward the bed, the moonlight bathing her figure in silver light.
This time, she would live her story on her own terms.