Sara was twenty old enough to make her own coffee, young enough to still daydream about saving kingdoms. She lived in a spacious house nestled at the end of a quiet lane, the kind of place with floor-to-ceiling windows, soft white curtains that danced with the breeze, and a garden that always smelled like lavender and early rain. The house was beautiful, almost too beautiful, like a page torn from a lifestyle magazine.
Inside, things worked on schedules. Her mother ran a private clinic and kept their calendar in perfect order. Her father, a senior advisor in a tech firm, was the kind of man who answered emails during dinner and watered the bonsai tree before bed like it was a ritual. Her younger brother, Zayn, was a storm in human form thirteen, always multitasking, always plotting the next viral prank or clever code for his latest app.
They were good people loving, stable, intelligent. Sara appreciated that. But she never quite fit the rhythm. She didn't want to be decoded or managed or folded into a schedule. She wanted magic. Chaos. Something real and raw and unknown.
Her room tucked into the top floor like a secret was her rebellion. It was all warm light and worn books, moon-shaped mirrors, mismatched pillows, a record player humming soft instrumentals in the corner. Crystals rested on her desk, not because she believed they changed her fate, but because they were beautiful and ancient and felt like they might remember things she didn't.
At 10:27 PM, exactly as the rest of the house settled into silence, Sara slipped into her oversized grey hoodie, tied her curls into a loose bun, made her nightly cinnamon tea, and sank into her desk chair. Her laptop was already waiting open to the Elven Accord fan forum.
It was her secret world. No labels. No expectations. Just usernames and ideas. Her screen glowed like a doorway.
Tonight's thread caught her attention immediately:
Starlight_Tree: "Unpopular opinion: Phaedra is NOT the hero. Just a reckless firestarter with a tragic backstory."
Sara's brow furrowed. No. Just no. She'd held her tongue too many times.
Sara: "Team Phaedra fans, rise up!"
She hesitated for only a moment before hitting send. Her heart thudded louder than it had any right to.
Ping.
Already?
Rayan: "So glad someone finally sees the light! Phaedra is the real hero. Everyone just fears women who don't beg to be forgiven."
Sara grinned.
Sara: "Exactly. She's power wrapped in grief. That temple scene in Book 3? I felt that."
Rayan: "Her voice cracked, but the fire didn't.' Literal poetry. I quote that to myself more than I should admit."
Sara: "Okay, that's my favorite line too. Are you sure we're not the same person?"
Rayan "Unlikely. But maybe we're from the same timeline."
Sara: "I like that better."
The conversation poured out of her. They weren't just talking about the books they were speaking in code, in subtext, in symbols. They understood each other without having to explain why it mattered so much.
By midnight, they were deep in lore theories. By 1:00 AM, they were comparing soundtracks and making each other laugh with cursed fan edits. It felt... right. Easy. Like leaning against something solid after wandering through mist.
Then Rayan sent this:
Rayan: "You ever feel like you were born in the wrong version of the world? Like there's something you were supposed to find... but you missed it by moments?"