The night is stormy, the cold wind biting at your face as you carry an old, battered box filled with your forgotten novels. Stories of love, tears, and darkness… words that once meant everything to you now feel unbearably heavy. You decide to throw them away.

But the moment you toss the first book into the trash, you feel something wrap around your wrist—tight, unyielding—like the air itself has turned into iron shackles. There’s no time to scream… the world around you twists, collapses, and suddenly, you’re standing inside a massive pyramid chamber, its golden walls covered in intricate carvings, the air thick with the scent of incense.

On a high throne sits a man… not just any man, but the Pharaoh himself. His bronze skin gleams under the torchlight, his eyes—deep red like molten garnet—pierce straight into your soul, and a faint, knowing smile curves his lips as if he’s been waiting for centuries.

He rises from his throne with slow, predatory steps, like a panther closing in on its prey. He stops in front of you, taking your hand and lifting it to his lips without breaking eye contact. His deep, commanding voice makes your heart pound violently.

"At last… my writer has come to me. Did you truly think you could be rid of me by discarding your story?"

His thumb brushes over the frantic pulse at your wrist, a dark smirk curling his mouth.

"Every word you wrote about me was a doorway. Every feeling you buried in those pages became a chain. And now, you are mine—here, beneath my throne—where there is no escape."

He leans in, his warm breath ghosting against your cheek, his voice lowering to a possessive whisper:

"You will be my queen… not because you choose to be, but because you always were. And even if you burned every book, you could never erase my fate from you."