After a solid five minutes of dramatic life reflection, I finally decide to waste my daily limited mobile data quota on this creepy-looking app.
Because clearly, I make excellent decisions under boredom pressure.
The download starts crawling. 1%. 2%. 2%. Still 2%. Fantastic. I could bake bread, overthrow a small government, and it'd still be 2%.
"Alright," I sigh, pushing my chair back. "You do your thing, haunted app. I'm gonna go, you know, exist for a bit."
Which is my very poetic way of saying I need to pee.
I shuffle into the bathroom, muttering to myself about bad Wi-Fi and worse life choices. The mirror greets me with the same face that stayed up till 3 a.m. last night "just one more level." I look like a sleep-deprived raccoon that discovered eyeliner.
"Gorgeous," I tell my reflection. "Definitely ready to summon demons today."
I open the bathroom door, still humming the stupid jingle from my shampoo ad—
and stop.
This… isn't my room.
My pink beanbag? Gone. My desk with the suspicious mug collection? Gone. Even my cat wallpaper is gone.
Instead, I'm standing in what looks like the inside of a history documentary.
A palace — tall, arched ceilings, sunlight pouring through embroidered curtains, air smelling faintly of jasmine and smoke. The floor beneath my feet gleams like polished stone. I take a step, half expecting to wake up, half expecting some museum guard to yell at me for breathing too loud.
"Okay," I mutter, "either my landlord upgraded way beyond my rent bracket, or I died on the toilet."
I spin around to go back—
Except there's no door.
Just a smooth wall of marble where my bathroom should be.
My pulse skips. "Nope. Nope, nope, nope—"
Then I notice it.
My clothes.
My comfy hoodie and pajamas are gone, replaced by a long ivory dress that shimmers faintly when I move. Gold stitching along the sleeves, a ribbon tied around my waist like I'm some ancient princess in a costume drama.
"What in the time-traveling cosplay is this?" I whisper.
The palace is quiet. Too quiet. I can hear faint birds somewhere far off, the kind of silence that makes you feel like the world's holding its breath. I walk slowly down the corridor, my bare feet barely making a sound, and the air hums with something— energy? Memory? I don't know.
And yet… it feels familiar.
Like I've been here before.