I woke up as an extra with two lines of stage direction. Ninety days from now, at the Moon Banquet, my role is to be framed for poisoning and cut down by the crown prince's sword. If I can't run, there's only one way out. Stay close to that dangerous man and break every death flag, one by one.
I woke up inside the romance fantasy novel I was reading last night. Not as the heroine. Not as the villainess. I'm the nameless Maid A, the one who takes the blame for the poisoning in chapter three and dies by the crown prince's sword. Luckily, I read the whole book. I know who the real poisoner is and exactly how the frame-up comes together. I even know the cold crown prince has spent years using his own life as bait to catch whoever killed his mother. Ninety days until the Moon Banquet. A maid only gets near a crown prince by serving tea or scrubbing floors, but that's fine. One teacup, one silver spoon, one rumor at a time, I'll turn it all around, rip out chapter three, and write chapter four myself. The problem is, the further I stray from the script, the more his eyes keep following me. In the book, he never looked twice at a maid.
- You already know how your death is written. Whose hands the poisoned cup passes through, which bed the vial gets hidden under. Only someone who read to the end can find each flag first and snuff it out.
- A maid holds the cup to the lamplight and dips a silver spoon in before serving. For the first time, the crown prince stays to watch the whole tea service. When a bit part starts improvising, even the lead forgets his lines.
- The night of the Moon Banquet, the poisoned cup arrives just like it did in the book. But the man who should draw his sword grabs the maid's wrist and pulls her behind him instead. This scene is not going the way the story I know went.
You already know how your death is written. Whose hands the poisoned cup passes through, which bed the vial gets hidden under. Only someone who read to the end can find each flag first and snuff it out.
