People always say stories were humanity's greatest invention. Nah. I'd argue stories were humanity's first obsession.
Back when we were still poking mammoths with sticks, some guy was already scratching little thunder gods into cave walls and dramatically narrating it to his confused tribe. Later they turned into scrolls or books, and we devoured them all. Within those pages gods fell, kingdoms rose, lovers bled. Every fantasy of humankind lived and breathed between ink and parchment.
And somehow, we followed every step, with nothing but the turn of a page. Later books became screens. Screens became portals..… and finally? Well, finally the line between watching a story and living inside one blurred into nothing at all.
We grew hungry for more. We wanted more. So we made it possible.
DreamSync Limited
The most advanced narrative immersion tech on the market today.
Yeah, in my time, you don't just read stories. You step into them. You pay the obscene premium, pass the psyche test, sign a two-hundred-page waiver that basically says "if you get emotionally wrecked inside your favorite fairytale, that's on you" and voilà. You're inserted into the narrative, living and breathing as one of its characters following the story.
And of course, most people, what do they do? They make a beeline for the leads. They go straight for the main characters. Of course they do. The tall, brooding hero with the tragic backstory. Or the flirty one with too many buttons undone. The emotionally unavailable bastard everyone swears they'll "fix." The sweet, golden protagonist who radiates sunlight and conveniently has abs. Or, in the female lead category: the goddess-tier beauty with endless knowledge and the wardrobe budget of a small kingdom. Everyone wants their dream romance.
But me? I couldn't choose between them.
I loved both the male lead and the heroine; not in a weird love triangle way, but in a "please, you two idiots, be happy forever, adopt cats, and dance in flower fields until you're eighty" kind of way.
So instead of opting for the predictable romantic route, I went for something else. Something better.
I chose to become a witness. A side character in my absolute favorite novel. A quiet presence in the backdrop of the love story I'd adored since I was sixteen. And so, I became Princess Elinessa Aurel; the soft-spoken royal little sister of our male lead. A presence barely relevant in the story. A gentle extra, which has additional freedom than main characters in the story I'd adored since I read the novel:
"Petals of the Crown."
I knew that story like my own heartbeat. A fluffy, heartwarming romance full of slow-burn ache and ballgown sparkle. Every chapter etched into my skull. Every dumb little misunderstanding. Every awkward flirt, accidental touch, jealous glare, dramatic run through the rain; I had cried over it, laughed over it, highlighted passages like they were scripture. Basically, I ate that stuff up.
It was my comfort novel. My obsession and my first literary love.
I had just graduated university, still high-off coffee, thesis madness, and with the looming dread of entering the real world as an adult. Before entering into the busy world again I rewarded myself with this experience for which I worked part time desperately, saving each and every penny and poured it all into this.
One last madness before...… whatever nine-to-five grind life is.
Here I was, fully immersed. Months of living inside the world of Petals of the Crown.
Well, technically, only a day would have been passed in the real world. Time flows differently when you're jacked into a narrative core; don't ask me how, I signed the waiver and skimmed the science.
But here's the important part; We were finally at the end. The drama was done. Our protagonists the prince and the heroine had chosen each other.
Crown Prince Callisto Aurel is emotionally attuned, storm-eyed, and the human embodiment of a sigh .... finally stopped brooding long enough to confess. And Lady Mirabel Ravel, sweet and sunshiny with flower braids and eyes like honey tea, had said yes like she'd been waiting her whole damn life for it right there, under the lit lanterns at the Moonlit Bloom Festival.
Gods know how many chapters of longing glances and tragic misunderstandings it had taken. But one night of lanterns and trembling hands sealed it. Canon achieved.
And me?
I was standing ten feet away in a pastel gown, completely third-wheeling like a deranged court jester at the climax of my favorite slow-burn romance.
"Oh my god, they're doing it," I squealed.
"They're actually—he's—oh, oh my god."
And then, like the mature, emotionally stable adult that I am: I giggled, hysterically. Like a royal idiot. Like a fan watching her fanfic leads get together in full cinematic HD.
"Princess, compose yourself," someone hissed behind me. But no. I was too far gone. My soul had departed my body and ascended to fiction heaven.
I was witnessing the literal climax of my favorite romance. And Callisto was reaching for Mirabel's hand like it was made of starlight and Mirabel was looking at him like her world had finally clicked into place.
I straight up had to turn around and scream silently into my sleeve. I may or may not have muttered, "this is better than any fanfic roleplay," out loud. Which, in this world, makes no sense. But you know what? It was worth it.
And then there was Commander Luke Dreva. The tragic silver-haired war god who had spent an entire novel being heartbreak on legs. The second Main Lead, rival knight had stepped down with honor, just two chapters earlier, bless his sad, sharp-edged soul. I remember that scene. Gods, I remember every part of it.
He hadn't begged. He hadn't cried. He simply handed his feelings over like a farewell sword. "May your heart rest where it's always belonged," he'd said, giving her that tiny, devastating smile. The kind that meant he was dying inside but would let her go, for her happiness.
And I?
I dissolved into a useless puddle behind a curtain and choked on a grape. Literally, a maid had to pat my back while I gasped "he deserves better!"
And this story is almost over. Their wedding robes were already in the embroidery phase.
Only one scene remained: The First Kiss. The final emotional climax before the epilogue.
Now, technically and literally, Princess Elinessa was never supposed to be present for that part of the story.
The kiss had been carefully scripted to unfold in the Central Garden, tucked at the far edge of the capital. Yes, I know, it's a name that hardly justified its location, but call out the author not me, I am just here for the drama.
Just past midnight, when the last threads of consciousness unraveled from the city and only the glow of the lamps remained to guard the silence. The scene is supposed to bloom into something private, tender, and breathtakingly romantic. A moment designed for two characters alone. Off-limits to background extras like me.
But listen;
I've been here since the early chapters, practically carrying this romance on my delicate shoulders.
I've delivered their secret letters, smuggled chocolates from the royal kitchens, arranged those "unexpected" tea encounters, and given out more unsolicited love advice than I have in my entire real-world existence. So if anyone deserved a front-row ticket to the kiss? No doubt, it should be me. Absolutely me.
I deserve this.
And besides… do you know how much money I forked out for this whole immersive experience? A truly idiotic amount. At this point, every ounce of drama, every blush they're all receipts I intend to cash in. So yes, I was going to squeeze every last drop of emotion out of this system, even if it meant a little… curious exploration.