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Elara's POV
I've always been a reader. Books were my escape—my quiet refuge. Nothing else ever really mattered; the words on a page held more weight than anything happening in my real life. But that was before I found it.
That damn book.
I don't know what drew me to it at first. I'd seen it on a dusty shelf in the old library at the edge of town, its cover worn, pages yellowed. It looked like the kind of book no one would bother with anymore, but that's what intrigued me. It felt... important, even in its quiet, unassuming way.
I remember the exact moment I reached out to touch it. The air around me shifted, like the world held its breath, waiting. My fingertips brushed the leather binding, and a shiver ran through me. Something clicked, as if the book recognized me in some way, like it had been waiting for me all this time.
I should've walked away. I should've left the book there and forgotten about it. But curiosity has always been my biggest flaw.
I opened the book, and the words on the pages shifted in a way I'd never seen before. At first, I thought it was my eyes playing tricks on me. But then, the letters rearranged themselves, swirling like smoke in a windstorm, and they formed a message just for me.
"You are the Inkbearer."
I blinked, confusion setting in. The words faded as quickly as they had come, and the page returned to normal, just ink on paper. It was as if nothing had happened.
But I knew—deep down—I had just been marked by something far greater than me.
I closed the book. Or at least, I tried. My fingers wouldn't move. The moment I touched the cover again, I felt the pull. It wasn't a physical sensation, more like something inside me being dragged, tugged forcefully.
And then, everything went dark.
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Elara's POV (In the Book World)
I woke up, gasping for air, only to find myself lying on the cold, stone floor of an unfamiliar place. The air smelled of ink and old paper, thick with the weight of centuries. My heart hammered in my chest, panic rising. What... what had just happened?
I looked around and found myself in what looked like a vast library, but it was far beyond anything I'd ever seen. Rows upon rows of towering bookshelves stretched into the distance, their spines glowing faintly with golden light. It wasn't like any library I'd ever visited. This place felt alive—its books were not just stories, but the very essence of reality.
I jumped to my feet, feeling the ground beneath me shift. The moment I stood, the room responded, the books vibrating softly, as if acknowledging my presence.
"Where... where am I?" I whispered to myself, dread creeping up my spine.
"You're in the story," a voice answered.
I spun around, eyes wide, searching for the source of the voice. Standing before me was... nothing. No one. Just the air.
"Who's there?" I demanded, my voice shaking. "What do you mean, 'in the story'?"
A low chuckle echoed from nowhere. Then, a screen materialized in the air before me, its words shimmering like magic.
"Welcome to the Realm of Ink. You are the Inkbearer now. Your destiny awaits."
I stared at the words, my mind spinning. This couldn't be real. It had to be some bizarre dream. But... I felt the weight of the book in my hands, still clutched tightly to my chest, and the sense of danger settled in.
"The Realm of Ink?" I whispered, a chill running through my veins. "What's going on?"
The voice—this time more like a whisper in my ear—replied, "The story is no longer just words. The world you see around you, the people, the events, they're all alive, Elara. And you're the one who can change them."
I looked around again. The books, the shelves—they felt like they were watching me. Waiting for something.
"You will meet others soon," the voice continued, "but remember, not everyone here is what they seem."
Before I could respond, the screen vanished, leaving me alone in the vastness of this strange, new world. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing thoughts. My fingers clenched around the book, my only tether to reality.
What the hell is happening?
A voice echoed through the endless rows of bookshelves again, this time louder, more tangible. A voice I could swear I could hear, even feel in my bones.
"Find your way, Inkbearer."
I had no idea where to go, what to do, or how to survive. But one thing was clear: the book had chosen me. And it wasn't letting go.
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