The world faded into existence like a painting coming to life, colors bleeding from memory into reality. Allura opened her eyes to the familiar gilded ceiling of her bedchamber, counting the hand-painted roses that decorated each panel. One hundred and seventeen. She'd counted them ninety-nine times before.

  Today marked her hundredth awakening.

  "My dy?" The maid's voice drifted through the door, the same lilting tone, the same slight hesitation. "Your breakfast is ready."

  "I'll be down shortly," Allura responded automatically, the words worn smooth like river stones from repetition. She rose from her bed, feet finding the exact spot on the carpet where they always nded, avoiding the loose floorboard that would creak in precisely three seconds if she stepped wrong.

  As she dressed, her mind wandered through the day ahead with the crity of a prophet. At breakfast, she would spill tea on her dress. At noon, the messenger would arrive with news of Seraphina's manifestation ceremony. By sunset, she would attend the ball where the crown prince would first y eyes on the pure-hearted heroine, beginning the tale that would end with Allura's downfall.

  Again. And again. And again.

  She caught her reflection in the mirror – violet eyes that had once gleamed with ambition now hollow with exhaustion, raven hair that fell in the same perfect curls that the story demanded. Her hand trembled as she pced the silver comb exactly where it belonged. Everything belonged exactly where it belonged. That was the problem.

  "I can't," she whispered to her reflection. "I can't do this again."

  But the day marched forward with inexorable precision. The tea spilled. The messenger arrived. The ball approached. And something inside Allura finally broke.

  Instead of preparing for the ball, she slipped through the servants' passages, making her way to the Sacred Spring. She knew Seraphina would be there, preparing for her divine awakening, as she had been ninety-nine times before. The moon hung low in the sky, casting silver light through the ancient trees.

  Seraphina knelt by the water's edge, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders, wearing the simple white dress that marked her as the realm's chosen one. She turned at Allura's approach, blue eyes widening in surprise.

  "Lady Allura? I didn't expect–"

  "Of course you didn't," Allura interrupted, her voice cracking. "You never do. You never remember. None of you ever remember."

  Seraphina's brow furrowed in concern. "Remember what? Are you unwell?"

  Allura ughed, the sound sharp and brittle in the sacred silence. "Unwell? I've lived this day one hundred times. I've watched you rise and shine one hundred times. I've pyed the vilin, been condemned, exiled, killed – one hundred times." She stepped closer, hands shaking. "Do you know what that does to a person?"

  "I... I don't understand," Seraphina backed away, fear creeping into her perfect features.

  "No, you don't. You can't." Allura's hand found the ritual dagger at her belt – the one she was meant to use to cut her hand and swear false fealty to Seraphina in Act Three. "But maybe... maybe if you're gone, it all stops."

  What happened next took only seconds, though they stretched like hours in Allura's fractured mind. The dagger fshed in the moonlight. Seraphina's gasp cut short. Crimson stained the sacred waters.

  As Seraphina's body slumped to the ground, the world shuddered. The trees groaned, their leaves withering instantly. The moon flickered like a dying candle. Reality itself began to unravel at the seams.

  Allura fell to her knees, not in triumph but in horror at what she'd done. The blood on her hands felt real in a way nothing had for decades. As cracks appeared in the sky itself, she csped her hands together in desperate prayer.

  "Please," she sobbed to any deity that might hear. "I'm sorry. I just wanted it to end. I just wanted to be free. Please, if there's any mercy in this universe, let me die. Let me truly die. Don't make me live this story again."

  The world continued to dissolve around her, colors bleeding away into void. In that nothingness, something stirred – not a god, but something vast and impersonal. The Narrative System, the cosmic force that governed all story-worlds, turned its attention to the anomaly.

  [CRITICAL ERROR DETECTED] [NARRATIVE COLLAPSE IMMINENT] [ANALYZING...] [SUBJECT: ALLURA - STATUS: SENTIENT] [CAUSE: SYSTEM BUG - MEMORY RETENTION ACROSS CYCLES]

  The System had no emotions, but something akin to responsibility stirred in its processes. This tragedy was its fault – a glitch in its perfect design had created true suffering where there should have been only story.

  [SOLUTION CALCULATED] [GRANTING REQUEST: TRUE DEATH/REBIRTH] [INITIATING SOUL TRANSFER...]

  As Allura's consciousness faded, the System made one more decision. The story-world needed saving, and there was a soul nearby that knew this tale by heart...

  [SELECTING REPLACEMENT...] [SUBJECT: LIA - RECENTLY DECEASED] [COMPATIBILITY: 100%] [INITIATING TRANSFER...]

  The st thing Allura felt was a gentle warmth, like being cradled by the universe itself. Then, finally, blessed darkness.

  And somewhere in a hospital room, a young woman named Lia took her st breath while reading her favorite novel, never expecting what awaited her on the other side.

  The cycle would begin again, but this time, everything would be different.