Annabelle stood near the grand windows of the ballroom, her fingers lightly grazing the cool glass. The outside world felt like a distant memory. Inside the palace, she was trapped in a sea of opulence and luxury, where every inch of the marble floors seemed to shine brighter than the last. The music wafted through the air in delicate waves, the noble women's laughter mingling with the low hum of soft conversations.
She tried to relax, to let the world fade away, but then something shifted—an unfamiliar presence, too graceful to ignore. Annabelle's gaze, drawn as if by magic, followed the woman entering the room.
She was striking, no—beyond striking. There was an ethereal quality to her, a softness that seemed out of place amid the sharp edges of the nobility. Her pale blue gown billowed around her in a cloud of fabric, delicate and light, almost as if it were made of the very air itself. Her golden hair cascaded down her back in gentle waves, catching the light, glimmering like the sun itself had been woven into her strands. But it wasn't her beauty alone that captured Annabelle's attention—it was the innocence, the fragility that clung to her like a second skin.
Her doe-like eyes blinked uncertainly, wide and filled with a nervous curiosity. They seemed to shimmer, as though they contained an entire world of untold stories, waiting to be lived. Annabelle's heart fluttered, though she didn't understand why. There was something undeniably familiar about her face, something that made her skin tingle with the recognition of a memory just beyond reach.
Annabelle frowned, narrowing her eyes as her mind scrambled for the source of that feeling. It wasn't just familiarity—it was something far more unsettling. She had seen that face before, on the cover of the very novel she had once read.
Her stomach twisted violently, and for a brief moment, her breath caught in her throat. No. It couldn't be. Was it?
It was.
Elvianne.
Annabelle stood frozen in place, her thoughts racing. The heroine of the novel she had cursed, the character she had called naïve, the one destined for tragedy. Her hands tightened into fists at her sides, and she bit her lip, trying to push down the overwhelming emotions threatening to flood her. This wasn't possible. Elvianne, the fragile woman who had suffered betrayal and loss in the pages of a book—was standing right before her. In the flesh.
A strange knot twisted inside Annabelle's chest, an odd mixture of pity and… something else. Was this some kind of twisted fate? Had the novel come alive, somehow, to haunt her? She had read the story, knew exactly how Elvianne's life would unfold, yet here she was—alive, breathing, and vulnerable.
The scene was unfolding before her eyes, but this time, there were no pages to turn. She had no idea how to act. Was she supposed to step in and change the course of events? Or would she, too, simply become an extra in the grand play of fate?
Annabelle's eyes followed Elvianne as the young woman walked past her, her delicate fingers clutching her dress in a nervous, almost desperate way. The awkwardness in her movements was palpable, like she was not meant to be here at all, like she didn't belong in this world of shimmering jewels and courtly manners. Her steps faltered as she moved, but she pushed on, determination in her eyes as though she could will herself to be part of this unfamiliar world.
Annabelle's heart softened. There was something about Elvianne—something raw and unguarded in the way she carried herself. It was easy to see how she had been manipulated in the story. The world was too cruel for someone so innocent, someone so unaware of the true nature of those around her.
Then, her eyes shifted, and everything in the room seemed to blur as she caught sight of another figure. The other woman—the one who had been watching Elvianne from the shadows. Annabelle felt a chill run down her spine. She knew who she was. There was no mistaking her cold, calculating stare.
Elara Voss.
The villainess.
Her black hair shimmered in intricate braids, a touch of red woven into the strands, like blood staining the darkness. Her gown, a blend of red and black, clung to her like the wings of a predatory bird, every movement striking terror into those who dared look too closely. She didn't just walk through the ballroom; she commanded it, her presence undeniable, like a dark cloud overshadowing everything she passed.
Annabelle's breath caught in her throat. This was where the story truly began. Elvianne and Elara were about to collide—light and darkness, innocence and malice. The web of fate had already been cast.
Annabelle's chest tightened as she tried to push down the sudden rush of conflicting emotions. Was she part of this, too? Or was she still an observer—just a character in the background of a story she didn't belong in?
Before she could answer herself, a sudden announcement rang through the ballroom, pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts.
"The Emperor and his family!" the guard's voice echoed through the hall.
Annabelle's heart skipped a beat, and her gaze snapped toward the grand entrance. The room held its collective breath as the royal family began to make their entrance. The Emperor, tall and regal, walked in with the Empress at his side, her gown of emerald green gleaming under the chandeliers. The room seemed to shimmer with the weight of their presence.
But then—
Annabelle's breath caught again.
Lucien.
There he was, walking into the room with all the poise and self-assurance that made him seem like he had been born for this. His dark hair gleamed under the light, his suit perfectly tailored to his form, his every step exuding the confidence of someone who knew exactly where they belonged. Behind him, Cassian trailed, just as handsome, his expression slightly more detached but no less striking.
Annabelle's chest fluttered with an unexpected emotion. How could she have forgotten about them? The protagonists. Lucien, the brooding, tortured hero, and Cassian, the quiet yet powerful shadow.
She tried to remind herself of her place in all of this, her role as nothing more than an extra, someone who was never meant to matter in this grand story. But seeing them again, so real, so present—it was impossible to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest.
Were they just characters she had read about, or were they destined to become something more? Were they meant to cross her path in ways that would change everything?
Her thoughts were cut off by the sound of her father's voice, his deep chuckle pulling her back to reality.
"Annabelle, come. Let's enjoy the night."
She plastered a smile on her face, pushing aside the whirlwind of emotions inside her, and joined her family. The night continued in a haze of music and laughter, but Annabelle's mind remained elsewhere, caught between the world she knew and the world unfolding around her.
She danced with her father, her brothers joining in to escort her around the room. There were moments of laughter, moments of joy, but always in the back of her mind—Elvianne, Elara, Lucien, and Cassian. The stage was set, and soon, the first sparks of drama would fly.
But for now, Annabelle was content to be just a spectator, watching as the pieces of the story slowly moved into place.