They dressed her like a doll—
Silk on her skin.
Flowers in her hair.
Chains on her wrists.
To the villagers, she was purity offered to darkness.
To the priests, she was a name they wouldn't bother remembering.
To the story she had once read—
She was cannon fodder.
But Lia knew better.
Because she had lived this moment before.
Just not like this.
When her body had died in the real world, crushed beneath the weight of a cruel accident, her soul had fallen into the very novel she'd been reading moments before. A fantasy romance full of magic, betrayal… and blood.
But here's the plot twist:
She wasn't the heroine.
She was the girl who died before chapter one even began.
Not this time.
The priests' chants grew louder, rising with the pounding of war drums that echoed through the dark mountain clearing. Smoke curled through the air, and magic sparked at her feet—dark, ancient, alive.
The Demon King was coming.
They thought they were offering a lamb.
But Lia was a lion in silk.
"Offer her to the night!" the high priest cried. "May the Demon King accept our plea and spare our lands!"
Lightning tore across the sky like an open wound. The altar pulsed with black fire. The wind screamed.
And then—he arrived.
The fire didn't roar.
It bowed.
A man stepped from the heart of the darkness. He didn't walk. He claimed the world beneath his feet.
The Demon King.
Tall. Inhumanly beautiful. Draped in shadows like royalty wears silk. Horns arched from his midnight-black hair, and eyes the color of molten ruby swept across the trembling crowd—until they landed on her.
Time stopped.
Everyone fell silent.
Except Lia.
She smiled.
"I was wondering when you'd show up," she said, voice soft, seductive, untouchable.
The villagers gasped.
The Demon King's eyes narrowed. "You… speak to me?"
She lifted her chin. "Why not? I'm the one you're supposed to kill, right? Seems rude not to introduce myself."
A slow smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. It was dark. Dangerous. Lethal.
"You're different."
"I get that a lot."
His eyes burned hotter. "You're not afraid."
"Oh, I'm terrified," she whispered, leaning forward against her bonds. "Just not of you."
Silence again.
Then—
He laughed. Low. Rough. Sinful.
The flames obeyed him. The wind stilled for him. And with a single flick of his fingers, the ropes binding her wrists turned to ash.
Gasps. Screams.
The Demon King reached out a hand.
She didn't hesitate. She placed hers in his.
"I think I'll keep this one," he said, eyes locked on hers.
Lia's heart thundered—but not with fear. With triumph.
Because this wasn't the book's story anymore.
This was hers.