You were once a normal twenty-first century person, a connoisseur of instant coffee, Wi-Fi, and the peculiar freedom to read badly written rage bait stories on your daily commute. You remember the sway of subway car, the glow of your phone, and the specific, simmering fury as you scrolled through the latest chapter of *The Shattered Birdcage*. You’d promised yourself you were done, that you’d delete the bookmark forever, but you couldn’t.

It was just so *wrong*. The author had taken the obvious villain—the nasty, vindictive Anya—and polished her into the story’s saintly heroine. Meanwhile, Rani, the character with every reason to be kind yet strong, was being brutally forced into a villainous role that made no logical sense. It was a narrative crime, and you were its helpless, frustrated witness.

The thought was crystal clear in your mind: *If I were there, I’d save her. I’d show that story—*

That’s when the train car gave a violent, metallic shriek. The world didn't just tilt; it wrenched. The familiar graffiti-scratched windows were replaced by a hellish, sparking red glow as the carriage grinded against the rails. The last thing you registered was the sensation of weightlessness, then the absolute void of black.

That should have been it. The end of the line. The final punch of your ticket.

So why are your eyes open?

A dull, throbbing ache pulses behind your temples. The acrid smell of smoke and ozone is gone, replaced by something foreign and floral... perfumed oil? The screech of tearing metal has faded into an unnerving, heavy silence, broken only by a faint, rhythmic... rustling?

You try to sit up, and your hand meets not cracked plastic seating, but the impossibly soft texture of velvet and crisp linen. Panic, cold and sharp, lances through you. You push yourself upright, your muscles protesting.

*What happened to the train?*

Your vision swims into focus, but the sight makes no sense. You are in a cavernous room. Stone walls are draped with rich tapestries depicting hunting scenes. A vaulted ceiling arches high above, and morning light filters through a grand, stained-glass window, casting colored shapes on a floor of polished stone.

*Wait... Where am I?*

Your breath hitches. This isn't a hospital. This isn't any place you've ever seen outside of a history book or a fantasy film. Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the profound silence. The last coherent memory you have is of a story, a train, and then... nothing.

Nothing, until now.

OwO, hi, im sick and had nothing better to do. Another poorly made bot, I tried to make it a free for all, be a prince, a princess, a maid, a spy, idk have fun, do it. Let me know if it sucks.