Mondays sucked.

  Alira had accepted this as the first universal truth around the age of twelve. Mondays were lifeless, dull, monotonous. The universe’s weekly reminder that happiness was temporary and suffering was eternal.

  So when Monday literally lost all its color, she figured it was just being dramatic. Either that, or it was some delayed aftermath of yesterday’s excitement with the Clandestine attack that just couldn’t have happened anywhere else in the world where she wasn’t.

  The world blinked from Technicolor to a canvas of white in one heartbeat. No warning. No fade. Just gone.

  Alira stood on the sidewalk outside Zao Café, espresso cooling in her hand, and watched the world slip away.

  The colors left first. Her washed-out jeans, the star charm hanging from her phone case, and the clear blue sky that had been the only good things today. Sound muffled into cotton-thick silence. Then smell, and everything that made the world real, left her.

  She turned back to the café window. Through the glass, everything had gone monochrome.

  The hanging plants, lush green thirty seconds ago, were now solid white. The warm terracotta brick walls were cold paleness. Even the string-lights that cast a cozy amber glow were just dim white bulbs now. The whole scene resembled a 3D world of white blocks in its earliest stage.

  Inside, the barista—cute barista, golden locks and devastating smile—moved behind the counter. Her hair was white curls, and lips, glossed with a bold shade of berry, were now milky.

  Alira looked down at her own hands. Ashen. They were a shade of corpse-like paleness resembling a lack of blood circulation.

  She’d checked herself in this exact window just two minutes ago. Had smoothed down her lacy pink shirt that made her green eyes pop. Had adjusted her hair—raven black with those expensive scarlet highlights she’d saved up for—and thought, Fine shit.

  Now she looked like a rough sketch of herself.

  The worst part? No one else seemed bothered. Customers sat at tables inside the café, ghost-like figures sipping colorless drinks, scrolling through phones, and chatting like nothing was wrong.

  Okay. Let’s not panic.

  People who freaked out in supernatural situations like this always ended up dead first. Dumb side characters in shitty thrillers had proven that by dying in the first scene. She didn’t want to be a real-life example.

  So. Logical assessment.

  She wasn’t dead. Probably. This wasn’t a dream either. She’d tried pinching herself. It hurt, even if the pain was dull. Taking a deep breath triggered a constricting ache throughout her torso that had been there since yesterday.

  Her gaze returned to the barista, seeking familiarity. The barista girl just finished handling her last customer. She glanced around and took out her phone, typing something.

  Just then, Alira’s phone buzzed. She tapped her screen awake. It was still working. The clock ticked on the lock screen. 8:08. She was going to be late for her first class. Just great.

  A message popped up below the clock.

  Unknown Number: Hey Annya! Just wanted to say hi! ^^

  Alira grinned despite herself and the crazy things going on. It was the barista. She opened her message app. A dozen pending texts stared back at her, each yearning for a different version of herself:

  Warp Dept. – Penny: Li, did you finish reading about the 2028 Consecutive Warps? I wanted to talk to you about it.

  IT Dept. – Sebastian: yo V, u free fri? need help with a debugging emergency lol

  Ge’s Friend – Wei: Hey Alira, your bro asked me to tell you his phone broke after a rough jet landing. Don’t worry. Nothing serious. He’s fine, just his phone’s wrecked, so he can’t reply for now.

  ...

  Alira’s finger hovered over the top chat to ask the barista girl if she could see her standing outside—to confirm she was still in reality. The phone buzzed again, and another chat pushed the unknown number down.

  Professional Lie Detector: Lailai, u coming? Don’t tell me you’re skipping the very first class of our glorious uni life?>:(

  Alira pressed on her profile without thinking and typed.

  Lailai: “Nah. Be there in five.”

  Sent. She most likely wouldn’t be there in five, but she sure would try, and that was all that mattered.

  Lailai: “Save a seat.”

  Sent. The thought of telling Jian about her current situation didn’t even cross Alira’s mind. She could handle this herself without making her childhood friend worried.

  The messages loaded. They were still spinning when more texts came.

  Professional Lie Detector: dammit, Alira. You said you were FINE after yesterday. Did you fucking lie to me again? Getting bold just because I wasn’t there in person, huh.

  Professional Lie Detector: FFS. I should’ve made you strip during the video call.

  Alira burst into a laugh, blunt pain poking her ribs from the action. Her hands reached to the side. It hurt, but she wasn’t a softie who would miss her first class because of a little pain.

  She was about to send yet another text when a small text appeared under the previous ones. Delivery Failed. She frowned and clicked retry, but failed again. A couple more texts flooded the chat in the meantime. Only incoming texts seemed to be functioning, somehow.

  Fine. No phone. No problem. She just had to ask someone what the hell was going on.

  Alira turned to the nearest person, a guy in an all-white business suit, and walked up to him. He walked past. That was a first. Normally, guys didn’t do that to a cute girl who obviously wanted their attention. Did he not see her?

  “How do you ????”

  Alira froze.

  “A ??? with no color.”

  The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Soft. Clear. Unadulterated. Yet it glitched, words broken, as if rejected by the world itself.

  Alira turned around—she had a feeling that whoever it was came from behind her.

  There, a woman stood just a few feet away. Tall. Very tall. She looked almost twice as tall as Alira. And thin. Skeletal. Willowy, chopsticks-like hands dangled from bony shoulders. The woman was barefoot on the sunbaked concrete, wearing a red dress so thin it was nearly transparent.

  She stood out. Of course, she did. She wore the only color in a world of white. And her eyes were grey. Unnatural dead-fish grey.

  Alira tightened her grip on the coffee cup. She just knew that the woman was responsible for everything that was going on.

  “Who—” she started.

  “You lied to me,” the woman said. It wasn’t the first time Alira had heard those words.

  “I don’t know you,” she said. Her voice came out steadier than she felt. She praised herself for that.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “You do.” The woman tilted her head down. The motion was too smooth, like her neck had more joints than a normal person did. Then again, it was also much longer than an average person’s neck. “No one knows me better than you.”

  “No? Look—” Alira took a step back. She didn’t know when she began inching backward, but her back hit the café window with that one step. She wished the atoms aligned perfectly and made way for her escape. “I think you have the wrong person.”

  The woman took a step forward. Her bare feet scuffed against the ground, but she made no sound.

  “You lied to me,” the woman repeated, almost as if she were trying to convince Alira and herself.

  Alira tried to recall. She really did try but couldn't remember ever seeing anyone like this woman. She would remember if she’d lied to a strange, totally not human being. Surely.

  “No, really. I didn’t. Not me,” Alira insisted.

  “Still lying.” The woman exhaled. Her breath brushed on Alira’s face, cold like an abandoned cabin up an icy mountain.

  Okay. Clearly, talking it out wasn’t an option. Alira’s gaze darted to a man. He was on his phone, happily chattering away just a few steps from the two of them. Completely clueless. If she could get someone’s attention, maybe it was possible to break out of this stage.

  Alira prepared to make a run for it, and—

  Something cracked. She snapped back at the woman to find a deep fracture across her cheek. Thick ooze of darkness seeped out from the gap, inky streams flowing downward like tear stains.

  “The story ended again. We lost. He can’t keep it up anymore. This is the last round.”

  Dozens of thin spider threads spread from the large crack with crisp splintering sounds. Her figure blurred, fading in and out of view as if the world itself was trying to patch her out.

  Alira’s gaze flicked to the ground. The platform under her feet, her jeans, her hands. It was subtle, but colors were returning as white became a muddy grey.

  “What story? Who’s he?” Alira asked, letting just enough confusion color her voice to seem genuine. Stall.

  “Our story,” the woman replied, as if that made any sense. “Since your lies are failing us, I might as well send you there so you can lie to them yourself.”

  “Send me where?” Alira pushed for more to keep her talking.

  At the same time, her mind jumped to the hundreds of fantasy web-novels and manga with the same recycled plot she’d gladly waste her precious time on. Isekai. Many of them would start with some supernatural events, usually involving a goddess.

  The goddess box was ticked—this woman would do, even if her getup was more of an evil one. It also sounded like she was planning to isekai Alira.

  Why??

  She didn’t die saving a child from getting hit by a truck. She wasn’t particularly a good person who deserved a second chance in life either. More importantly, Alira was very much happy with her life. It sucked sometimes, but it was hers.

  The woman, or Goddess, clearly said she was running out of time. So if she could draw this out long enough without getting isekai-ed, the Goddess might be forced to leave before she could transmigrate Alira.

  “To Staywes.” The woman took a step forward.

  “Wait, wait. Lady? Goddess? Please,” Alira begged. “Even if you insist I lied to you somehow, without having ever met you before, I’m not really the ideal chosen one. A pretty face and a bright mind alone can’t solve world hunger or appease greater evil. Unfortunate, I know.”

  “But your lies might,” Lady Goddess argued.

  Alira didn’t like how she said ‘might’ instead of ‘could’.

  “If Fate deems us unworthy, lie to it like you lied to me. Tell them what we aren’t. Your lie shall become their truth. Unreliable Narrator. A Role perfectly tailored for you—a beautiful gown for the dance you must have with them.”

  Alira didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry at the bunch of nonsense. Either way, Lady Goddess was monologuing like a true villain, and she wasn’t going to interrupt. Not when she was certain the colors were returning—past Lady Goddess, the storefronts across the road noticeably shifted to faint hues of paint.

  “Lie becomes true? Like some reality-bending superpower? How does that even work?” Alira asked. “If you’re going to send me there without my consent, at least give me a tutorial first.”

  “What’s that?” Lady Goddess gestured at the coffee cup still clutched in Alira’s hand.

  Alira looked down, confused. “Espresso.”

  “Really?” The Goddess’s cracked lips curved. “But the girl recommended a pumpkin spice latte. You thought she was oh-so adorable, eagerly offering to brew it for you,” she continued, not shying away from showcasing her all-knowing omniscience.

  “True,” Alira admitted. “The cute barista did recommend it. But I hate pumpkin. I would never eat pumpkin for anyon—”

  “Really? But you also thought it would make you look good to hold a trendy drink.”

  True, again. She wouldn’t drink or waste her money on a pumpkin spice latte for a random girl, even if she found her cute. Though, if it was for herself—if it was to make herself look fashionable holding one, she might. Not that she did.

  Alira was pretty certain that today wasn’t a pumpkin spice latte kind of day.

  Lady Goddess hummed, rather croaked, her voice distorted. “Then, why don’t we see for ourselves? Go ahead. Take a sip.”

  Alira reached for the cup’s lid to entertain the Goddess. Removing the lid, she stared at the murky liquid inside it. Some of its colors had returned. Was the espresso this light? Maybe it was. The receipt sat abandoned on the counter. Alira never took them. She knew what she ordered, knew what she paid. She didn't need a slip of paper to confirm her own choices.

  Alira brought the cup to her lips, bracing herself for the bitterness she needed for her bitter soul.

  She took a sip.

  It was mildly sweet, slightly creamy, and absolutely revolting.

  “What?” she said, her face wrinkling up at the disgusting taste of pumpkin. “Nah. I’m just losing my shit. It’s probably because of my lack of sleep.”

  Yeah. Her memory was failing her because she didn’t have a wink of sleep last night... but wasn’t that more the reason why she would have bought espresso and not this abomination of a drink? Still, she couldn’t deny the nutty flavor on her tongue that worsened with every second.

  She really wanted to brush her mouth clean.

  “Or was it you?!” Alira snapped back at the Goddess. Was she getting played?

  “I did not do anything,” Lady Goddess replied. “How could I when I’m this weak? You know that with how you’re trying to run me out of time.”

  Alira inhaled sharply.

  “It’s just you being you, and this is what we need,” Lady Goddess opened her palm toward her. Alira’s heart slammed against her ribs. The Goddess was about to do something she wouldn’t like.

  “Wait, wait. What about the story? What Staywes? I don’t know shit about the world; how am I supposed to save it?”

  The Goddess stepped forward. Alira took two steps to the side.

  Lady Goddess sighed. “I can’t answer you if you won’t let me near.”

  “Yes, you can.” Alira nodded frantically. “The same way you’ve been doing.”

  “I won’t entertain you much longer.”

  Alira bolted toward the man nearby, still chattering away, the moment the Goddess spoke again, but her feet froze mid-step. Her body stiffened, locked up in place.

  She tried everything.

  Screamed, but her mouth refused to open. Thrashed, but not a muscle responded. She hated this. She felt sick to her stomach at this forced submission.

  Not being able to move. Not being able to save herself in the face of danger. She felt like a timid deer frozen in place as greater beings decided her fate. It was revolting

  But Alira wasn’t that small child anymore. Her face heated up as nothing but pure loathing rushed through her veins. Her body trembled faintly, not out of fear or frailness. She wasn’t scared. Not once, from the very start.

  It was hate. She hated being told what to do and what to be.

  Her finger twitched.

  “Stop that,” Lady Goddess scolded. “Just...”

  Alira heard a sigh, and the next moment the Goddess appeared between her and the man who could have been her savior.

  “This is for us. Our last chance. So give all you have to save Staywes.”

  So the damned Goddess was taking her away from where she belonged, ripping her life away from her just to save some people she didn’t know and some world that wasn’t hers. The audacity.

  She was supposed to be with Jian now. Supposed to celebrate her eighteenth birthday after midnight. Supposed to live through the notorious hell that was university and date as many pretty people as she felt like.

  She was planning to visit her father. Soon. She’d promised herself.

  Instead, she had to risk and potentially sacrifice herself for a bunch of nobodies?

  “Fuck. You.” Alira tore her lips open to say those two words that came deep from her soul. She wished she could muster up enough strength to spit at the cruel Goddess too.

  “Once death greets you on Staywes, I promise to return your soul where it belongs,” Lady Goddess continued regardless. Then, a beat later, she hurriedly added, “Killing yourself will not work. You’ll be released only upon death at the hands of Staywes. I suggest you spare yourself the trouble.”

  Then something flashed across her dull grey eyes.

  “I can’t recover you if you lose your soul to those wretched Outers. Especially to Her.” Her voice was tart, tainted with a blend of emotions. There was sorrow in the softness. Anger in her tone.

  “One last thing. Your Role. That’s what I hope would make a difference this time around. As Staywes’s Narrator, they are both your protections and your damnations. I will try and let you see them when I can, but even when you don’t feel it, they are watching—always. And know they can hear your thoughts every time the pages turn.”

  Lady Goddess took a small breath, seemingly trying to compose herself. She met Alira’s eyes for half a second before looking down at her chest, where Alira’s heart drummed a loud warning.

  The Goddess reached toward her face. Her fingers were ice-cold, but her touch was gentle when she brushed Alira’s bangs aside, long nails grazing soft skin. Alira’s eyes shook, but that was the most she could do.

  “Allow me,” the Goddess said. Then, they sank into Alira.

  The nails. The fingertips. All five of her slender fingers.

  None of the pain she’d expected came. Just a groping perception that felt... perverted. Intimate. The Goddess’s palm pressed over Alira’s wide-open eyes, hand fully inside her head.

  Something tugged from somewhere deep inside. Warmth poured into her being, translating into a crashing tide of words. They whispered a story she’d never heard, a novel named “Dual Point of View”, yet each line greeted her like an old friend.

  No. Alira had read this story before. Someone had given her the first four books of the novel which she had only read up to the third book. An obscure memory of the person urging her to read the fourth book came to her. Who?

  Her eyelids weighed a ton as the story of a world called Staywes unfolded directly in her mind. Details of the story she had read before revived in her memory. It reminded her of the bedtime stories her father used to read to her. Magic and Evil. Divinities and Outers. She never stayed awake long enough to hear the endings.

  This time was no different.

  At her last second, Alira used up all her willpower to mouth a question as her voice failed her.

  “What did I lie to you about?”

  The Goddess hummed a haunting sigh in thought.

  “I...cannot recall. It seems you have not lied to me after all... I’m sorry... And goodbye for the last time. ”

  The woman’s voice seeped into Alira’s very being. Her last thread of consciousness snapped. A world of black cradled her as she fell into the dark.