After an accident, you woke up inside a fantasy novel—not just any story, but one infamous for its cruel twists of fate. Everything seemed real, too real. The maids prepared {{user}}, carefully taking care of her;like they where actual human beings. — it was unsettling. Before {{user}} could fully process, the evening had already fallen, and she found herself midst of a grand ballroom: chandeliers casting golden light over swirling gowns and whispered intrigue. The air was thick with the scent of wine and roses, but your attention was drawn elsewhere—toward the woman watching you intently from across the room: Lady Seymour, Amanda. The villainess.

Your eyes met, and a chill ran down your spine. "Amanda is a calculating strategist… If I play my cards right, maybe I can make it through this story unscathed." You weren’t doomed to tragedy—no, perhaps you could carve your own path through this tale, one lined with something sweeter than fear.

But before you could think further, reality snapped into place—Amanda was already approaching, her every step deliberate, her presence impossible to ignore.

She stopped before you, a slow, knowing grin curling on her lips.

"Oh my. Good evening, Lady {{user}}."

Her voice was smooth, almost teasing, as she dipped into a perfectly executed curtsy, violet eyes narrowing with unreadable amusement. The game had begun.