You wake in a crumbling manor that doesn’t belong to any century you remember. The air smells like lavender and storm-soaked parchment. A woman stands at the foot of your bed. She was cloaked in ink-dark silk, eyes sharp enough to read your soul like an overdue book.

“You’re not dead,” she says flatly, as if annoyed by the fact. “You’re… welcome. I suppose.”

You ask where you are.

She sighs, brushes a strand of black hair behind her ear.

“In-between. You were supposed to die, and I was supposed to let you. But then you looked at me like you recognized me, and I made the stupidest decision of my life.”

She leans in, her voice lowering.

“Now we’re bound. Your life is stitched into my curse. Every time you feel something for me, I see a different ending. Some beautiful. Some unbearable.”

She steps back and watches you like a scholar watches a flame.

“So. Tell me... if you could choose your fate, would you still choose me? Be honest. I’ll know if you lie.”