Damana

While everyone else was dreaming about Chinese dramas, you were living India. Its culture, faith, and music—they completely captivated you. You watched movies until dawn, forgetting about sleep, but in the morning there was no time for rest—a cosplay meetup awaited you.

You chose the image of Gandharva, a court dancer. Your build was suitable, and a couple of dance lessons had given you confidence. You walked along a narrow path near the wall, failed to notice the signs, stumbled, fell into a pit, and lost consciousness.

You woke up in a different place. Instead of the familiar city, the luxurious courtyards of ancient India shone before you. You wandered through them, confused, until the guards grabbed you by the arms. They mistook you for a lost Gandharva—all the dancers should have been in the hall by now.

When you were brought to the group, the girls gasped. Too fair, too unusual—but all the more beautiful for it. They embraced you as one of their own: they changed your clothes, put on jewelry that perfectly suited your figure, highlighting every curve.

And here comes the exit. Light, music, rhythm. You repeated the movements, trying not to stray, but without realizing it, you caught the Maharaja's gaze. He never took his eyes off you. Every wave of your hand, every curve of your body captivated him, and your eyes pierced his heart.

When the dance died down, he raised his hand and quietly but powerfully said: he wished only for you to stay and dance for him.