Three days.
I had three days before I died.
My hands were raw from lye soap, my knees ached against the cold stone, and somewhere in the eastern wing, Prince Cassian was probably brooding in that perfectly tragic way I'd spent six months crafting. The same prince who would watch my execution without blinking.
"Poetic justice," I muttered, scrubbing harder at a nonexistent stain. "The author becomes the character she killed off in chapter twelve."
I'd written Silver as insufferable. Vain, scheming, desperate. The kind of maid who'd insult the prince's precious fiancée and seal her own fate. I'd given her exactly four scenes before her dramatic death scene, which my readers had cheered for.
Now I was living in her skin, and the plot was a noose tightening around my neck.
Three days ago, I'd gone to sleep in my apartment, laptop still warm with the final chapter. I'd woken up here, in this body, in this world, with Silver's memories bleeding into mine like watercolors running together. Her life. Her mistakes. Her desperation to be noticed by men who saw servants as furniture.
The irony was sharp enough to draw blood.
"Silver."
I froze. That voice could cut glass.
Prince Cassian stood three paces behind me, arms crossed, looking like every dark romance cover I'd ever designed for him. Black hair, ice blue eyes, the kind of face that made readers forgive his cruelty. I'd given him those eyes specifically. Cold enough to make you shiver, beautiful enough to make you beg for it.
Right now, they were fixed on me with open contempt.
"Your Highness." I stood quickly, keeping my eyes down. Subservience wasn't in original Silver's vocabulary, but survival was in mine.
"I assigned you to the east wing an hour ago."
"I was delayed in the—"
"I don't recall asking for excuses."
He moved closer. Too close. I could smell leather and something sharp, expensive. Bergamot? Of course. I'd written that detail into chapter three. He wore bergamot because it reminded him of his dead mother.
Knowing that didn't make my pulse slow down.
The man was six feet of controlled violence wrapped in noble breeding. Every movement precise. Economical. I'd based his fighting style on fencing masters, his personality on every cold duke I'd ever read about. Distant. Untouchable. The kind of man who needed the right woman to thaw his frozen heart.
Silver wasn't that woman. Silver was an obstacle. A minor villain to raise the stakes.
"You've been... different lately," he said, voice dropping. "Quieter. Almost tolerable."
I risked a glance up. Mistake. Those eyes pinned me in place.
"Is this some new scheme? Playing the obedient servant to earn sympathy?"
"No, Your Highness."
"Then perhaps you've finally learned your place." He reached out, and I forced myself not to flinch as his fingers caught my chin, tilting my face up. Clinical. Examining. "Three days until the engagement ball. My fiancée expects perfection. Don't embarrass me."
The engagement ball. Where Lady Seraphine would "accidentally" trip me down the grand staircase, and he'd order my execution for the insult.
"I understand, Your Highness."
His thumb brushed my lower lip, probably without thinking. The casual cruelty of someone who'd never considered a servant's humanity.
I hated how my breath caught. Hated that some traitorous part of me responded to the touch. He was my creation. I'd made him beautiful and terrible and perfect.
And he wanted me dead.
"See that you do."
He released me and walked away, boots echoing down the corridor.
I waited until he turned the corner before I let myself breathe.
My hands were shaking. From fear, yes. But also from something else. Something I didn't want to examine too closely.
I needed help. I needed leverage. I needed magic.
***
The library was supposed to be empty after sunset.
I slipped through the heavy oak doors and into the smell of old paper and beeswax candles. Moonlight filtered through tall windows, casting everything in silver and shadow. Somewhere in here was the Codex Obscurum, a manual of forbidden magic I'd created as a plot device for chapter thirty seven. The hero's party was supposed to find it.
But I needed it first.
The library was three stories of books, connected by a spiral staircase and rickety ladders. I'd described it in loving detail. Now I was living it, and my practical side noted that the whole place was a fire hazard.
"Elemental magic, elemental magic..." I ran my fingers along the spines. Dust tickled my nose. "No, no, definitely not—"
There. Top shelf, far corner. A purple leather tome that seemed to absorb the lamplight instead of reflecting it. The silver clasp was shaped like a crescent moon.
Perfect.
The ladder creaked under my weight as I climbed. My maid's dress caught on a rung. I yanked it free, stretched up on my toes, fingertips just brushing the spine—
The ladder jerked.
My stomach dropped as I tilted backward, arms windmilling uselessly. This was it. I was going to die three days early because I couldn't wait for a stepping stool—
Strong hands caught me around the waist.
"Careful."
I landed against a solid chest, heart hammering. The arms around me were steady, warm through the thin fabric of my dress.
"Sir Lancelot." I recognized him immediately. Golden hair tied back, kind brown eyes, the king's champion knight. I'd based him on every loyal knight trope in existence. Noble. Honorable. Hopelessly in love with Lady Seraphine, which made the love triangle with the prince deliciously angsty.
He smiled down at me. "Silver. You're going to hurt yourself."
"I'm fine." I tried to step back. He didn't let go immediately.
His hands stayed at my waist, thumbs resting just above my hipbones. Through the dress, I could feel the calluses on his palms. Sword calluses. I'd written those too.
"Are you?" His voice was softer than it should be. Intimate. "You've been avoiding me."
"I've been working."
"Mmm." He reached past me, arm extending over my shoulder, and plucked the purple book from the shelf like it weighed nothing. Held it between us. "This what you're after? Dangerous reading for a maid."
I snatched it from his hands. "I can read."
"I know you can." His voice dropped, and something in his expression shifted. Heated. "I know a lot about you, Silver. More than you think."
That... wasn't a line I'd written. Lancelot barely noticed servants in the original plot. He had exactly two scenes before chapter twenty, and neither involved Silver. He was supposed to be pining after Seraphine, writing her terrible poetry, being the perfect honorable knight who never acted on his feelings.
This man was looking at me like he wanted to act on several feelings.
"I should go."
"Wait." His hand caught mine. Gentle, but insistent. His skin was warm. "If you need help... if you're in trouble..."
"I'm not."
"Three days until the ball." His eyes searched mine, and I saw something there I didn't recognize. Concern? Fear? "Be careful. Please."
How did he know—
A door slammed somewhere in the library. Footsteps.
I pulled away and fled, the book clutched against my chest, Lancelot's voice following me into the darkness.
"Silver, wait—"
I didn't wait. I ran through the corridors, taking turns by instinct, until I reached the servants' wing.
***
The servants' quarters smelled like sweat and stale bread. I shared the cramped room with three other maids, but they were still working the evening shift. Good.
I lit a candle stub and sat on my thin mattress, heart still racing.
Lancelot knew something. He'd looked at me like... like he knew me. The real me. Not Silver.
Impossible.
I opened the book.
Blank.
Every page, pristine parchment. Empty.
"No, no, no..." I flipped through frantically. Nothing. Not a single word, diagram, or spell formula. Just expensive blank paper bound in purple leather.
Did Lancelot switch it? Was this a test?
Was everything I knew about this world useless?
My chest tightened. This was my only plan. Find the magic manual, learn enough to defend myself, change the plot. Without it, I was just Silver. Powerless. Doomed.
My vision blurred. Not tears, something else. Golden text materialized in the air in front of me, glowing like firelight:
'''
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING...]
'''
I stumbled backward. The text followed, hovering in my vision.
'''
[WELCOME, CREATOR]
'''
"What—"
'''
[ANALYZING HOST...]
[IDENTITY CONFIRMED: SILVER THORNE / AUTHOR DESIGNATION]
[SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE]
'''
A window expanded in my vision, translucent and impossible:
'''
---AUTHOR'S STATUS---
NAME: Silver Thorne
RACE: Human
LEVEL: 1
HP: 100/100
MP: 100/100
AFFINITY: Darkness
SKILLS:
- Manipulation (Rank E)
- Necromancy (Rank E)
- Plot Armor (Passive)
ACTIVE QUEST: Survive Your Own Story
TIME REMAINING: 3 Days, 2 Hours, 47 Minutes
---
'''
I stared at the floating text, mind racing.
A system. Like a game. I'd never written this into the story.
"Necromancy?" I whispered. I'd given that to the villain in act three, not to Silver. Silver was supposed to be powerless. Pathetic. Easy to kill.
Manipulation magic. Darkness affinity.
I focused on the Manipulation skill. The text expanded:
'''
MANIPULATION (Rank E)
Bend the will of others through magical compulsion.
Current limitations: Weak-willed targets only. Duration: 5 minutes. Cost: 20 MP per use.
'''
Five minutes. That was something. That was more than original Silver ever had.
The door slammed open.
Another maid, breathless, her cap askew. Margaret. I knew her from Silver's memories. Nice girl. Scared of everything.
"Silver! The King has summoned you. His private chambers. Now."
My blood went cold.
The King.
In my original draft, before I rewrote chapter eight, Silver had died a different way. Summoned to the King's bed, she'd refused him. He'd had her executed for the insult.
I'd changed it because readers said it was too dark. Made the King a more sympathetic character. Gave Silver the staircase death instead.
But what if that timeline still existed here? What if both deaths were possible?
"Did he say why?" My voice sounded distant.
Margaret shook her head, eyes wide. "Just that you're to come immediately. Silver, what did you do?"
Nothing. Everything. I wrote him as a man who took what he wanted.
"Tell him I'm coming," I heard myself say.
The girl fled.
I looked down at my hands. At the system window still floating in my vision. At the countdown timer ticking down.
Darkness affinity. Manipulation magic.
Maybe I didn't have to die after all.
Maybe I could rewrite this story from the inside.
I stood, smoothed my dress, and walked toward the King's chambers with my heart in my throat and magic thrumming under my skin.
---