Chapter Text
I was absolutely thrilled—my long-awaited book had finally arrived! It was about dragon riders, embroiled in a war that devastated their kingdom, and I could already picture myself lost in the pages, escaping into a world of fire and flight. My heart raced as I held it in my hands, marveling at the intricate cover design and the beautiful foil stamping that shimmered under the light. I practically buzzed with excitement, and for a moment, everything else faded away.
You might think I'd tear open the pages and start reading right away, but no. Instead, I did what I always do: I calmly walked over to my shelf and placed it gently among my other treasures. This particular book, with its classic gold-sprayed edges, was a proud addition to my library. People often referred to me as a "book dragon" because of my love for collecting beautiful books, but I never minded the nickname. It made me smile.
I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. I know it might seem counterproductive to hoard books and not read them right away, but I always tell myself, “I’ll get to it eventually.” The idea of having these beautifully bound works of art sitting on my shelves, waiting for the perfect moment to be opened, somehow felt more satisfying than diving into them immediately.
Unfortunately, I had a job—just like everyone else. My life wasn't all books and treasures. My priorities were simple: sleep first, then food, and finally, my collection. My job as a dental hygienist—recently earned after finishing my university studies—wasn't something I was passionate about, but it paid the bills and allowed me to indulge in my little obsessions. I didn’t mind it, though I often daydreamed of a life where I could focus solely on the things I loved.
Aside from books, I had a weakness for other beautiful things—particularly jewelry. Silver was my true love, but I appreciated gold too, in small doses. And perfume bottles—oh, perfume bottles! The way they glistened in the sunlight, casting prismatic rainbows that danced across the walls, was something that always captivated me. I would often find myself lost in thought, imagining a life of luxury, a life where I could simply admire my precious things in peace.
With a dreamy sigh, I would often mimic one of my favorite characters, saying, “Who needs a boyfriend when I have my precious?” I wasn’t averse to relationships, but there was something so satisfying about having all these objects—things that I could control and appreciate without the complications of other people.
Despite all this, I maintained a fairly balanced social life—well, a façade of one. In reality, I preferred the company of my books, my jewelry, and my other collections to that of actual people. Not that I didn’t know how to hold a conversation when I needed to; I just found more joy in the things I cherished than in making small talk with strangers. Still, I didn’t mind attending gatherings or meeting new people. I had mastered the art of looking normal, of pretending to be just like everyone else. They didn’t need to know the quirky, whimsical creature that lived within me.
At 24, I had recently qualified for a job as a dental hygienist. It had been a surprise when they offered me the position—I had only just graduated. But it was a fortunate turn of events, and I accepted it with a mix of relief and excitement. People often commented on my mature vibe, like I had my life all figured out. They didn’t know how much I was still figuring out, or how much I preferred the comfort of my quiet, curated world to the demands of adult life.
But even though I had my routines and my little pleasures, something unexpected was about to shake everything up. I had no idea what was coming.
The next day, getting out of bed was a struggle. My body was heavy with the remnants of a long, restless night, and I groaned as I rolled around under the covers. My platinum hair was a mess, tangled in its usual wavy, straight chaos, strands falling into my face and blurring my vision. I squinted at the clock—it was already late. Great. Another rushed morning. I threw on clothes that made me look like an upstanding citizen—though deep down I knew I was far from it—and stepped outside, trying to shake off the lingering fatigue.
That's when I heard it.
“Watch out!”
The words barely registered before my instincts kicked in. But it was too late. I froze in place, my mind scrambling to process the situation. It’s true what they say about your life flashing before your eyes—but I wasn’t thinking about grand achievements or regrets. My thoughts, for some reason, were filled with images of my precious books and perfume bottles, my favorite pieces of jewelry. I didn't have time to think about much else.
The sound of screeching metal filled the air, and I barely had time to react before a long, heavy beam came crashing down toward me. It was all happening so fast—too fast for my human brain to catch up. I saw the beam just before it struck, the horrified realization that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was a disastrous mistake—an error made by some incompetent construction worker, and I was the unfortunate victim.
Everything went black.
As the world disappeared into darkness, my last thought, strangely enough, wasn’t of my own life or the chaos of the moment. It was of my books, my precious collection. A silly thought, perhaps, but it made me hope—just for a second—that the person responsible for this mess would face the consequences of their actions. Not just for my sake, but for the sake of everyone who had ever been in the wrong place at the wrong time