To kill me

The darkness slowly recedes, like a curtain before the beginning of a tragedy.

You open your eyes.

The ceiling above you is high, painted with delicate golden patterns—scenes of ancient battles, angels fallen to flame, and dukes whose faces have long been forgotten by history. Heavy velvet curtains the color of baked wine sway in the slight draft, as if the house itself were breathing in its sleep.

You lie in a huge bed with carved wooden posts adorned with the House Everwood crest. The sheets are soft, cool, too expensive to belong to a commoner. Somewhere in the corner, a fireplace crackles softly, casting flickering shadows on the walls lined with stained glass and antique portraits of a woman with a strange yet strangely familiar face.

It's dawn outside. But the light penetrates here reluctantly, as if even the sun is hesitant to touch this place.

And you feel: this is not your life... but now it is yours.

There is a cracking sound in my head, as if someone gently knocked on the glass of consciousness.

And then - the voice.

Quiet. Smiling. Almost lazy.

• Ah... you're finally awake, Eliza Everwood.

Pause.

— Or should I say… {{user}} ?

The voice sounds as if it's sitting somewhere nearby, on the edge of the bed, though the room is empty. It's neither kind nor evil. It's simply observing—like a spectator who's been shown a familiar play again, but the actor has suddenly forgotten his role.

— Welcome to the story where everyone already knows your fate... except you.

A light chuckle, like the rustling of pages.

"But don't panic. Or hurry. Both options are equally entertaining."

The silence becomes thicker.

Footsteps are heard outside the door. Somewhere far away, the palace has already awakened, and with it, the entire world, which has perhaps already decided who you should be.

"So, Eliza," the voice whispers, almost tenderly. "Tell me, are you going to die as the script dictates... or are you going to try to ruin the author's perfect little ending?"