Chapter 2
"Wrong Story, Wrong Body"
Not from water, not from smoke—just the thick weight of air that didn’t belong in my lungs.
It was heavier here. Sharper.
The scent of damp soil, old stone, and roses so strong it bordered on rot flooded my nose.
I sat up too fast and immediately regretted it. My head spun.
My fingers scraped against cold stone, and my eyes—still adjusting—saw the red sky swirling above me.
Not sunset. Not dawn. Just endless twilight.
I whispered, scrambling to my feet. My legs were shaking, like they didn’t remember how to move.
The trees nearby weren’t normal—they bent like they were listening.
The shadows twitched like they had thoughts. And the moon—
It wasn’t the one I knew. It was red.
？？？
“Oh my god,” I breathed.
I touched my face—my cheekbones felt sharper.
My hands smaller. My hair longer.
Panic swelled in my chest.
？？？
“This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. It was just a book.”
But everything screamed otherwise. The sky. The air. The silence.
And then I remembered the last words I heard: You were never just a reader.
The book didn’t pull me in to watch. It pulled me in to live.
I looked down at my clothes—simple, threadbare.
A chain around my neck. Boots too big.
I definitely wasn’t Serenya.
Then a voice cut through the air:
？？？?
"Jungkook! Don’t just stand there—bring the wine to the east wing!"
I turned toward the voice, heart hammering.
A man stood by a stone archway, gesturing impatiently. I didn’t move.
？？？?
"Jungkook! Gods, are you deaf again?"
And then the name hit me like a slap to the face.
That name. That cursed, fleeting name from Chapter 11.
Flashes filled my mind—like memories that weren’t mine.
A harp beneath moonlight. Fingers trembling across strings. A cold floor. A pool of blood. The final note cut short.
I staggered back as images flickered: guards dragging me through black halls, my voice shaking as I sang, a pair of red eyes watching from a throne.
Chapter 11. A footnote in the grand tragedy. Forgotten before the climax.
I gasped, the world spinning again. My hands trembled. My knees buckled.
But somewhere beneath the fear, a fire sparked.
I might wear his skin. I might carry his name.
And I refused to let this story end the same way.
Jungkook
“I will change it,” I whispered. “I’ll rewrite it.”
Because if fate wanted me dead—
I would make fate bleed first.
I swallowed down the panic still rising in my throat.
My fingers tightened around the dusty bottle of wine the man had forced into my hands. I turned toward the long corridor, unsure where the east wing even was, but my feet began to move anyway.
Out of muscle memory that wasn’t mine.
The hall stretched out ahead of me, long and silent, with flickering torches casting shadows that danced like ghosts.
As I walked, something cold settled over me—not fear this time, but realization. The kind that burns low and slow.
I wasn’t just in the story.
I was in someone else’s skin.
I tried to recollect his memories
I was Elian. Also called Jungkook. In the palace he was or is Jungkook.
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