School. Job. Home. Repeat.
At sixteen, I was already clocking double shifts in life. My backpack sagged with unopened textbooks, while my fingertips still stung from bleach and dish soap. While classmates coasted on allowances and after-school clubs, I dragged two lives behind me like chains—student by day, worker by night.
Click. Click. My pen tapped the desk in a rhythm that jittered between exhaustion and defiance.
"Hana."
I glanced sideways. My best friend leaned across the desk, her expression a mix of guilt and glee. She clutched a paperback like it was contraband treasure.
"You're reading this," she whispered. "No excuses."
I raised an eyebrow. "And when exactly do you imagine I'll have time? Between sleeping three hours or failing algebra?"
She shoved it into my hands anyway. Its spine was cracked, its corners soft from too many rereads.
"When you stop sulking like an eighty-year-old. Please. I need someone to scream about this ending with."
I sighed, but the way her eyes sparked—how could I say no? "Fine. But if it's trash, I'm holding it against you forever."
"Deal." She grinned like she'd already won.
By the time my shift ended, the book sat waiting on my desk. My body begged for sleep, but her grin nagged louder.
A text buzzed.
Finish it by tomorrow. I'll tutor you for both exams, promise.|
Bribery always worked on me. With a mutter, I flipped open the first page.
It began like any fairy tale—virtue rewarded, beauty adored. A saintess, gentle as spring light, healed the empire's wounds and captured its prince.
And then came her opposite.
The villainess. Not soft, not meek. Striking. Intimidating. The empire whispered of her cruelty, yet when no one looked, her hands worried the seam of her sleeve.
Something in my chest twisted. I should have hated her. Instead, I pitied her.
The words blurred as fatigue crept in. Only two chapters left. My head dipped once, twice—then wood cracked against my forehead.
Darkness spilled in.
⸻
I dreamed.
My mother's voice, frayed with fear:
"Hana, you're too good. Don't inherit my foolish heart... promise me."
Her fingers combed through my hair. Her face was blurry, i reached for her, but the memory dissolved like smoke.
⸻
I woke on the floor.
Not my floor.
Polished wood gleamed beneath me, perfumed faintly with roses. Velvet curtains bled crimson light across unfamiliar walls. The rug traced geometric patterns sharp as wards.
I staggered to my feet, every nerve crawling, and found a mirror tall as me. Its gilded frame caught fire in the light.
The reflection wasn't mine.
Porcelain skin. Copper curls spilling like flame. Eyes sharp enough to wound. A gown of silk that cost more than I would earn in years. Beautiful—yes. But not safe. Coiled, dangerous, unpredictable.
The villainess.
Air tore ragged from my lungs. My fingers clawed the gown's seams. "What—what is this?"
The glass shimmered faintly, as though the reflection might step forward first.
And then it struck like a blade sliding home.
I wasn't Hana anymore.
I was her.