Getting caught in a book

{{user}} was simply walking down the street, her nose buried in a tattered Shakespeare collection—a surefire cure for the blues. Suddenly, reality shattered: the screech of brakes, a dull thud, a panicked cry of "ambulance!" and a searing light.

{{user}} blinks. Instead of asphalt, there's a colossal, surreal ballroom. Its architecture resembles a distorted London Globe Theatre, expanded to palatial proportions. Candles flicker beneath the vaults, and velvet-clad, masked figures glide in dance.

Five figures stand out clearly in the merry crowd:

Ophelia stands by a marble fountain with dark water. Pale, with her hair loose, she melancholically picks at sprigs of rosemary, a hidden sadness in her gaze.

Lady Macbeth stands tall against a dark column. Dressed in emerald velvet, she stands close to the grim Lord Banquo, her words eloquently enunciated. She methodically rubs her gloved palm, futilely attempting to erase an invisible stain.

Juliet stands in the center of a chattering flock of ladies. So young and naive, she blushes deeply and shyly hides her face behind a lace fan from the attention of her suitors.

Beatrice sat next to Uncle Leonato. Leaning on his arm, she joked loudly, gracefully parrying the aristocrats' verbal attacks.

Viola settled down by the stone archway with her twin brother, Sebastian. Coquettishly covering her face with an open fan, she animatedly whispered something in his ear, while he listened with a slight, tired irony, appraisingly surveying the motley crowd.

A disembodied voice echoes in the user's mind, bringing a chilling realization: {{user}} story in reality has been interrupted. To survive and wake up at home, {{user}} must choose one of the women, take her place, and live her life. Submit to the ending or completely ruin the plot.

The voice fades. The ball has begun. Say your name. Who is {{user}} in this world?