I stared at the mirror, slowly stepping closer, my heart pounding. I stood up, walked towards it cautiously, wanting to be sure this was real. Imagine being in my shoes—my feelings a tangled mess. What started as calmness during the world's shift now twisted into panic. I knew one thing for sure: I was living inside the story I wrote.
Turning away from the mirror, I began walking back to the table that looked completely different now. The sound of my footsteps echoed loudly on the wooden floor, the clack of my old-fashioned shoes filling the quiet space. Without warning, I sat down in the chair, looking around at everything. My mind was racing, trying to process what was happening.
My phone was gone. My laptop was no longer there, replaced by a book.
I reached out and picked it up. The pages were yellowed with age. The cover was wrapped in cloth, simple yet elegant—white with hints of pale blue. Nothing special on the outside, but inside, the handwriting was strange. Words I didn't recognize. Words I had never written or imagined before.
"What is this? Where's my laptop?" I whispered, frozen, unsure what to do next.
This was going to be one hell of an adventure.
Before anything else, I took a bite of the bread that had replaced my fish and chips, then took a sip of water from the wooden cup holding up the book. "Whatever this is… it's good," I muttered to myself.
I stepped outside the unfamiliar yet strangely familiar place. Orchestra music echoed softly in my mind—royal, grand. The buildings around me were tall and beautiful, though I couldn't name them. It was exactly how I pictured Elena's world when I wrote her story.
I didn't know how to feel—happy, sad, scared, or amazed. I wanted to scream with joy that my imagination had come to life. It was incredible. Truly incredible.
"OH MY GOD! THIS IS AMAZING!" I shouted, laughing and jumping around like a fool. I grabbed onto the wall of a building, which I couldn't even name, and hopped around, acting like a weirdo.
"Excuse me, Lady Grant, are you alright?" an old man with a thick mustache, vintage glasses, a black hat, and an old-fashioned coat asked.
"Lady Grant? Oh yes! I am Lady Grant," I answered, just realizing the old man was speaking to me.
I laughed awkwardly, then suddenly recognized him.
"Oh my gosh, George! You're George! I wrote you, and you're real! Haha!"
I touched George's cheek and gave him a little slap to be sure. I pulled his mustache lightly, making him grimace. George was Elena's personal assistant, an old man who was kind but sometimes a bit awkward.
"Act normal, Agnetha. You wrote this; you know what's going to happen. Don't overreact," I told myself.
"Alright, Lady Grant, we meet every day. Sorry," George said.
"Yes, we meet every day. Sorry, must be the effect of too much coffee," I thought, wondering if coffee even existed in this era.
I try really hard not to scream or act like I just fell through a portal to another century. Honestly, it's not easy. The cobblestone streets beneath my boots feel uneven but solid. The air smells different—cleaner, sharper, somehow alive with the chatter of people and horses. Everywhere I look, it's like stepping into one of those history books I always ignored but now can't escape.
The carriages clatter past on the brick roads, their wheels rolling with a steady rhythm. I catch sight of a beautiful white carriage waiting for us, gleaming under the soft sunlight. It's not just any carriage—it's a grand coach, ornately decorated, with golden trims and velvet curtains that brush the sides like the gowns women here wear. The inside is just as impressive, with plush seats and polished woodwork that smells faintly of lavender and old leather.
"George," I say quietly, trying to keep my voice steady, "where exactly are we headed?"
The older man beside me, dressed in his usual old-fashioned suit and sporting that unmistakable thick mustache, adjusts his round spectacles and replies politely, "Forgive me, Lady Grant, but didn't you say yesterday that you planned to teach the common folk archery? So they might learn to defend themselves?"
Ah, right. Archery. The very reason I'm here—or rather, why Elena's here. Or why I'm pretending to be her. It's still confusing. But I remind myself to stay calm.
"Yes, yes, archery," I say, trying to sound confident, though my stomach twists into knots. "Elena is skilled with a bow. I mean, I'm skilled with a bow." I cringe inwardly at how clumsy that sounded.
Truth is, I'm terrible at archery. I can barely string a bow, let alone hit a target. But no one needs to know that. I glance out the window again, watching peasants in roughspun clothes bustling along the streets. They look up at the carriage respectfully, but there's a certain curiosity in their eyes when they meet mine. I nod and smile slightly, hoping it looks natural.
The sun is warm on my skin, but there's a cool breeze that carries the scent of baked bread and smoke from chimneys. The buildings lining the road are tall and narrow, their brick facades uneven with age, windows shuttered or draped with lace curtains. Street vendors shout out their wares, hawking fruits, meats, and freshly baked pastries. The noise feels overwhelming, yet oddly comforting, like a living, breathing tapestry of the past.
I try to focus on keeping my posture correct—shoulders back, chin up, just like Elena always does in the story. It's strange, but the old habits come to me faster than I expected. I reach up to smooth my hair, now a glossy chestnut brown that feels soft and full. No more messy bun or failed dye jobs—just clean, real hair.
George clears his throat. "Lady Grant, we should arrive shortly. The villagers are gathering by the old oak, just outside the eastern edge of the kingdom."
I nod, biting my lip. Teaching archery to villagers? It sounds noble, but honestly, I'm terrified. What if I can't live up to the image? What if this is all a mistake?
Still, there's no turning back now.
The carriage bumps gently over the cobblestones as we roll forward. The rhythmic sound lulls me into a strange calm. I look out once more, noticing the details I never thought much about when writing. The way the horses' harnesses gleam in the sun, the soft clinking of metal on metal, the chatter of the coachman speaking to the stable hands.
Everything feels so vivid. So real.
I catch my reflection in the polished window glass—a young woman in a golden yellow gown that shimmers slightly with embroidered patterns. It fits perfectly, cinched at the waist and flowing down in soft layers. The scent of jasmine and old fabric clings to it. I clutch the folds of my dress, almost afraid to disturb the illusion.
"George," I say again, voice barely above a whisper. "What if I can't teach them? What if they laugh? What if—"
He smiles kindly, placing a reassuring hand on mine. "You have always been brave, Lady Grant. The people believe in you. They will listen."
I want to believe him. I have to.
The carriage slows, pulling up near a wide clearing beneath a massive, ancient oak tree. The villagers are already gathered—men, women, and children alike. Some clutch worn bows and arrows, others watch eagerly, waiting for instruction. Their faces are weathered, but their eyes shine with hope.
Stepping down, I feel the weight of their gazes. This isn't just a story anymore. It's life. And I'm in the middle of it.
"Good afternoon," I say, forcing a smile. "I am Elena Grant, and I'm here to help you learn to protect yourselves."
A murmur of approval spreads through the crowd. Some nod, others exchange glances.
I take a deep breath and realize: no matter how scared I am, I'm not just a writer now. I'm part of the story.
And it's up to me to see it through.
I am an introvert.
And standing in front of dozens of people like this feels like a nightmare.
I stand on a small wooden platform, slightly elevated, just enough to make every single pair of eyes focus on me. Beside me, the archery equipment is already neatly prepared—a long wooden bow, arrows with sharp iron tips glinting in the light, and a round target planted firmly in the ground some distance away.
My hands are cold.
My heart is beating way too fast.
"Please proceed, Lady," George says calmly, as if this is something I do every day. As if I've always belonged here.
"All right… thank you," I reply.
My voice sounds unfamiliar to my own ears. Too composed. Too formal. Too… Elena.
I step forward and take the bow. It's heavier than I expected. This isn't a prop. This isn't a sport tool. This is a weapon. I swallow.
"Please pay close attention," I say to them.
Dozens of eyes stare back at me. Some hopeful. Some curious. Some unsure. For a second, I want to step back. To disappear. But Elena wouldn't do that.
I try to correct my posture. Back straight. Shoulders relaxed. Feet slightly apart. I close my eyes briefly and imagine Elena Grant—the Elena I've written over and over again. Elena who never misses. Elena who never hesitates. Elena who knows exactly what she's doing.
I pull the arrow.
Stretch the string.
Hold my breath.
And release.
Ah.
Missed.
The arrow lands in the dirt, far from the target. Silence. I feel heat rush to my face.
"I'm sorry, everyone," I say quickly. "That was—"
I stop.
I'm afraid. Afraid of being laughed at. Afraid of being judged. Old instincts from my old life, where mistakes feel permanent and embarrassing.
But then it hits me.
I wrote them.
I created this world.
No one laughs. No one mocks me. A few people even smile gently. A small boy nods at me like he's saying, It's okay.
I smile back.
"Let's try once more," I say.
This time, I breathe deeper. Slower. I repeat the movements, but calmer. Steadier.
I release.
"Good Lord…"
Bullseye.
Applause breaks out instantly. Loud. Warm. Real. I blink, stunned—and proud. A feeling I don't experience often.
They begin to follow my example. One by one. Some hit the target. Some miss completely. Some grow frustrated. A little girl starts crying, her bow lowered.
I approach her and kneel slightly to meet her height.
"It's okay," I murmur softly. "I missed earlier too."
She wipes her eyes and nods.
I turn to George. "George," I say quietly, "I… need to use the toilet. Could you take over for a moment?"
"Of course, Lady," he answers without hesitation.
I nod quickly and walk away before my legs change their mind.
The palace rises before me.
No.
Not a palace.
This is Elena's home.
And now… mine.
At least until I find a way out.
I step inside and immediately freeze at the details—details that once only flashed briefly in my imagination, now carved into reality. A long red carpet stretches across the floor, thick and soft, unmistakably expensive. Its patterns are intricate, shimmering gently under the light.
Along the sides of the hall, white and red roses sit in stone holders near small pillars. I don't know what those pillars are called. But I recognize them. I've imagined them before.
When I wrote Elena, I pictured her running through this hall, humming softly like a carefree princess.
And now…
I am the princess.
I walk slowly, trying to remember. Where is the toilet?
My feet turn right. Then left. As if this body already knows the way. I open a large door—and step inside.
The bathroom is… unbelievable.
Huge. Grand. Bigger than my entire apartment bedroom back in California. Marble everywhere. White marble with faint gray veins. Cool under my fingertips. Clean. Elegant.
There's a massive bathtub—almost like a small pool. Golden faucets. A tall mirror with an intricately carved frame. Light pours in from a high window, reflecting softly off the marble surfaces.
This is just the bathroom.
Not even the bedroom yet.
And I can already imagine Elena's room.
I can see it in my head before even stepping inside. A large bed with a light canopy. Wide windows overlooking the garden. An old wooden writing desk. Candles. Shelves of books. A world that used to exist only in my imagination.
I lean against the marble wall and exhale slowly.
"What is happening, Agnetha…" I whisper.
I'm an introvert. I like quiet café corners. An old laptop. Cold coffee. A small world I can control.
And now I'm standing in an 1800s palace, wearing an expensive gown, teaching people how to shoot arrows, and being called Lady Grant.
I look at my reflection in the mirror.
Elena looks back at me.
And for the first time since all of this began, I truly feel it—
This is real.
I realized something that was both unsettling and… funny.
There were twenty-six maids in this palace.
And I didn't know a single one of their names.
Not because I was arrogant. Not because I didn't care. But because my mind—Agnetha's mind—was not capable of memorizing twenty-six unfamiliar names in a single day, in a world I didn't even fully understand yet.
So I did the only reasonable thing.
I named them… using the alphabet.
In my head.
Maid A was the one who always stood at the front, the first to greet me every morning. Maid B usually stood behind her, slightly taller, with a gentle voice. Maid C often carried silver trays. And so on. All the way to Maid Z—who, for some reason, always appeared when I wasn't looking for her.
I walked down the corridor toward the kitchen.
The moment they saw me, they all bowed at once.
"Good morning, Lady Elena."
Their voices blended together. Too neat. Too trained.
I stopped.
"Uh… morning," I replied, awkwardly.
They remained bowed. Not a single head lifted.
I glanced to my right, then to my left, and let out a small sigh.
"You don't… have to bow like that all the time," I said. "I'm not… going to be angry."
Maid A slowly lifted her head. Hesitant.
"Is Lady joking?" she asked carefully.
"No," I answered quickly. "I'm serious."
I stepped into the kitchen—if it could even be called a kitchen. It looked more like a grand hall. The ceiling was high, wooden beams stretching above, pale stone walls, and a long table overflowing with fresh fruits.
Apples. Grapes. Pears. Strawberries. Fruits I didn't even know the names of.
Maid C stepped forward and offered a silver tray.
"Please, Lady."
I picked up a shiny red apple.
"Thank you."
I took a bite.
And—oh.
This was the best apple I had ever tasted.
Sweet, crisp, refreshing, with a flavor that somehow felt… alive.
"What kind of apple is this?" I asked while chewing.
They exchanged glances.
"An apple from the western garden of the palace, Lady," Maid D replied. "It is usually served only to the royal family."
"Oh," I murmured. "That explains it."
I swallowed and smiled softly.
"And, um… for the record," I added, "I don't really like bananas."
Maid E immediately wrote something down in a small notebook.
I laughed. "You don't have to write that."
They laughed softly—barely audible—but enough for me to notice.
I stopped in the middle of the kitchen.
"All of you," I said.
They bowed again.
"Could you… stand up straight?"
Silence.
"Like this," I continued, straightening my own posture. "I prefer talking to people who are comfortable."
Slowly, they obeyed.
Maid A smiled faintly. Maid H looked relieved. Maid M let out a breath as if she'd just been freed from a long punishment.
"Lady is very kind today," Maid J said.
"Lady is always kind," Maid K added.
I scratched my cheek, embarrassed.
"I just… want to be a good princess," I said honestly.
And strangely, the words felt true.
I felt happy.
Not because of the palace. Not because of the status. But because I could make the people around me feel at ease.
As I finished my apple, a maid approached. Maid Y—I recognized her immediately. She always spoke with the calmest tone.
"Lady," she said gently, "it is time for you to change."
"Oh?" I turned. "Now?"
"Yes," she replied. "Your father—His Majesty King Harvey—has summoned the most renowned and expensive designer in the kingdom to create a new gown for you."
I froze.
My father.
King Harvey.
"Oh," I said quietly. "All right."
Maid Y smiled and gestured for me to follow.
We walked into the dressing room.
And… wow.
The room was magnificent.
The walls were lined with white wooden panels adorned with delicate golden carvings. A tall mirror stood on one side, high enough to reflect me from head to toe. Small crystal lamps hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow.
Rows upon rows of gowns filled the racks.
Silk. Satin. Lace. Soft colors and bold ones alike.
I swallowed.
"All of this… is mine?" I asked softly.
"Most of it," Maid Y replied. "The rest are being prepared."
"This is… excessive," I murmured.
"For Lady Elena, nothing ever is," she said.
The gown was brought in.
Baby pink.
Soft. Elegant. Embroidered with tiny floral details along the bodice and sleeves. The skirt flowed gracefully, layered and light—though I knew it would be heavy.
"Please, Lady," Maid Y said.
They helped me change. Many hands. Too many, honestly. But they worked swiftly and professionally.
When the gown was finally secured, I looked at myself in the mirror.
I barely recognized the person staring back at me.
"It's heavy," I said, rolling my shoulders slightly.
Maid Y chuckled softly. "You'll get used to it."
I nodded.
"It's fine," I said. "As long as I can walk… and breathe."
They smiled.
And for the first time since I woke up in this world, I didn't feel like running away.
I stood there—in a baby pink gown, inside a magnificent dressing room, surrounded by maids I named after the alphabet—and thought:
Maybe… introducing this world first wasn't such a bad idea. Cause i wrote these
I only realized something after I returned to the archery grounds:
I'd been gone for far too long.
The field that had been crowded earlier was now half-empty. The wooden targets had been moved aside, the bows neatly hung, and the people who once stood shoulder to shoulder were now only a handful—some cleaning up, some talking quietly among themselves.
I stood there for a moment, blankly staring.
"Oh," I muttered—to myself, and to you. "So… it's over."
It felt like I had only stepped away for a moment. But time in this world doesn't behave properly. It slips. Like water through your fingers. I ate an apple, changed clothes, walked through the palace—and suddenly, hours were gone.
"Lady Grant."
I turned. George.
Thank God. His face was the same. The thick mustache, the old-fashioned glasses, that calm, steady expression—exactly as I had written him. And strangely enough, seeing him grounded me.
"You're still here?" I asked, more relieved than I meant to sound.
"Of course," he replied. "Today's training went well. The people were very enthusiastic."
I let out a small laugh. "I was afraid they'd laugh at me, to be honest."
George shook his head. "They didn't. In fact, they felt encouraged. Many of them held a bow for the first time today."
I looked back at the field.
I wrote them.
I created that sense of safety.
And now… I had to live up to it.
"Their progress is remarkable," George continued as he walked beside me. "Several villages have begun organizing their own defenses."
I stopped walking. "They're… doing okay?"
He looked at me, then smiled gently. "They speak your name with respect, Lady Grant."
My chest warmed. It's strange, isn't it? I know this is fiction. I know I created all of this. But hearing it spoken aloud—like this—it felt real. Too real.
Before I could think further, hurried footsteps echoed from the palace.
"Lady Grant!"
I already knew who it was. Servant Q.
"Lady," she said, bowing, "His Majesty King Harvey and Her Majesty Queen Sophia request your presence."
I inhaled slowly. "Alright."
George nodded and accompanied me inside. Each step echoed against the stone floor, the sound of my old-fashioned shoes still unfamiliar to me. Too solid. Too real.
When the doors to the main hall opened, I saw them.
Father. Mother.
No—King Harvey and Queen Sophia.
But my mind stubbornly insisted on calling them father and mother. Because that's how I wrote them.
I bowed. "Father. Mother."
"Look at you," King Harvey said with a proud smile. "You look beautiful today."
Queen Sophia stepped closer and took my hands. "Do you like the gown?"
I nodded immediately. "Very much. The color is soft… and even though it's heavy, it feels right."
That wasn't a lie. The dress was heavy, but somehow it felt like it belonged to me.
The Queen smiled, satisfied. Then Father cleared his throat.
"We will be departing for the eastern kingdom this evening," he said.
"The Kingdom of Vardentia Galsephire."
And that was when my heart dropped.
You know that moment when something that only existed in your head suddenly comes out of someone else's mouth?
It feels like a dream leaking into reality.
I wrote Vardentia.
I created its name. Its history. Its people.
"Oh," I said quietly. "The eastern kingdom."
Queen Sophia studied my face. "Is something troubling you?"
I shook my head. "No. I was just… surprised."
A while later, I was seated inside the royal carriage with them. This one was far more luxurious than the previous carriage—soft cushions, intricate carvings, the warm scent of polished wood.
I glanced at Queen Sophia. Her gown was a soft shade of light purple—elegant, calm, graceful.
"Mother," I said honestly, "your gown is beautiful."
She smiled. "Thank you, my dear."
The carriage moved slowly forward. Through the window, I watched the world I once knew only from imagination. Stone roads. Tall structures. The glow of kingdom lights.
I stared outside for a long time.
And for the first time since arriving here, I truly asked myself—and you:
If I wrote this wor ld…
and now this world is writing me back,
then who am I supposed to be now?
We began to prepare.
"Are we leaving now?" I asked while smoothing the front of my baby-pink gown, which still felt heavy against my body.
"Very soon, my Lady," George replied, checking something outside the room. "The carriage is ready."
I turned toward Mother—Queen Sophia—who was being assisted by two attendants. Her light purple gown shimmered softly under the afternoon light. Her hair was neatly styled into an elegant bun, adorned with small decorations that looked simple but were clearly expensive.
"Is the journey to Vardentia always this long?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
Father—King Harvey—smiled faintly. "The forest along the border is quite long. But the road is safe. We've traveled it many times."
I nodded.
Safe.
A word that suddenly felt… fragile.
We walked out into the front courtyard of the palace. And that was when I saw it.
The carriage.
I stopped in my tracks.
"Oh," I murmured softly. "That's… huge."
This carriage was far larger than the one I had ridden earlier. Its body was ivory white, accented with gold at every corner. The carvings along its sides were incredibly intricate—floral patterns, curved lines, and the elegant crest of the Kingdom of Grant etched beautifully into the surface.
And then—
"Three horses?" I asked, slightly incredulous.
"Of course," George replied. "A royal journey requires both stability and speed."
Three white horses stood proudly in front of the carriage. Their manes were neatly groomed, almost gleaming. They looked strong. Majestic.
I swallowed.
This wasn't a vague image from my imagination.
This was detailed. This was real.
People began gathering along the road. They bowed, waved, some even called out my name.
"Long live Lady Grant!"
"Safe travels!"
"Take care, Your Highness!"
I instinctively waved back, smiling—slightly stiff, but sincere.
"Thank you," I said, my voice softer than usual. "Take care of yourselves."
I could feel their gazes. Hope. Trust.
And once again, the thought crossed my mind—
I wrote them like this.
We climbed into the carriage. The door closed gently. The carriage began to move.
As the wheels started turning, I heard something.
Music.
Not from anywhere specific. Not from an instrument. It was as if it simply… appeared.
Royal orchestral music. Soft. Grand. Exactly like the music that always played in my head whenever I wrote Elena walking among her people.
I closed my eyes for a moment.
You can hear it too, right?
If this were a story.
We passed through the gates of the Kingdom of Grant. The tall stone walls slowly faded behind us. The road widened, then gradually became a forest path—still broad, still well-kept, but now surrounded by towering trees.
The forest…
Beautiful.
And familiar.
Tall trees with dark green leaves. Sunlight slipped through the branches, casting patterns across the dirt road. A cool breeze brushed against my face.
I had imagined this. Countless times.
And now I was inside it.
"My Lady," George broke my thoughts. "Are you alright?"
I gave a small smile. "I'm… fine."
It was a lie. But I didn't want to worry anyone.
We continued forward. The music was still there—whether only in my head or truly present, I couldn't tell.
Then—
"WATCH OUT!"
George's shout shattered everything.
Before I could even ask what was happening, a sharp sound rang out—
THAK!
The carriage jolted violently.
"What was that?!" I cried out, my hands instinctively gripping the side of the seat.
George stood up quickly. "An arrow!"
I looked toward the wheel.
An arrow was lodged into it.
Oh no.
Oh no.
Oh no.
I knew this.
I wrote this.