I still couldn't believe it.
Transmigrated into a novel? That was fiction. Fantasy. Something people joked about online or wrote for fun. It wasn't supposed to happen. Especially not to me.
I paced the room, arms wrapped tightly around myself. No matter how many times I asked, the answer remained the same: there is no character named Anna in that book. But the names from the diary—Riella, Marchioness Isthar, Edgar—those were real. At least, real within the story I read last night.
So then... who am I? Where am I? Why am I here?
All these existential questions I had conveniently ignored most of my life now came rushing in like a dam breaking. I didn't even realize how much time had passed until the door creaked open and Sain stepped inside, her hands dusty from errands and work.
She blinked at me. "What are you doing? Are you still not feeling well?"
"Sain," I turned to her, heart racing, "what's the name of the city we're in right now? Is this a country, a kingdom, or an empire? What year is it?"
She raised an eyebrow as she set her basket down. "Are you quizzing me now? You look like you're about to pass out."
"Please, just answer. No more questions—just tell me. What year is it? Where am I?"
"You're really acting strange today," she said cautiously, frowning. "We're in Sicilly, the capital of the Ethira Empire. And it's the year 923, by the old calendar. Do I need to tell you what day of the week it is, too?"
"…murmur murmur…" I could barely process what she just said.
"Hey, stop mumbling to yourself like that. You're scaring me." Sain quickly came over and pressed a hand to my forehead. "You don't have a fever, but what if you hit your head after all? Are you bleeding internally?" She gently pulled me toward a chair and handed me a glass of water. "Drink this. Breathe. Do we need to see a physician?"
"…mumble… transmigrated… novel… story…"
"I don't understand a word you're saying," Sain said helplessly. "But maybe food will bring your sanity back. This is really the last time I'll pamper you like this. Next time, make your own meal!"
Despite her grumbles, she still moved around the kitchen, preparing dinner with practiced ease.
Once again, faced with a table full of fragrant food, my worries momentarily faded. As I ate, the warmth of the meal seemed to ground me. Even if I had changed bodies, even if I was no longer in my world… I still had my appetite. Some things, it seemed, stayed the same.
Sain watched me with a mixture of relief and confusion. "Huh… You're still eating like a starving traveler. I thought you ate a lot this morning because of the hangover. But now I'm starting to wonder if you've turned into someone else."
If only she knew.
"You usually eat so little," she continued. "Always thinking of saving for your younger siblings. Has your appetite changed?"
I just smiled sheepishly and kept chewing.
"Well," she sighed, "whatever's going on with you, I hope you'll be better by tomorrow. You've been off all day, but I won't press. Just rest. Think about what you want to do next."
I helped her clear the table, trying to act as normal as possible. Before heading back to the bedroom, I turned to her and said softly, "Thank you, Sain."
She gave me a warm smile in return. Kind. Familiar. Comforting.
The next morning came too soon.
I opened my eyes with a sliver of hope that everything had just been a bizarre, hyper-realistic dream. That I'd wake up in my tiny, cluttered apartment with my cat scratching at the door and my unfinished article waiting on my laptop.
But no. Same room. Same sunlight filtering through the dusty window. Same reality.
I walked to the front door slowly, as if hoping the view might be different this time. Maybe there would be a street I recognized, or even a Starbucks in the distance. Something to anchor me back to my world. Somewhere deep inside, a tiny voice still insisted—maybe I hadn't really transmigrated. Maybe I was just lost in some obscure rural village on Earth, in a part of the world I'd never visited.
Even if I had just randomly woken up in a different place on the same planet, it would still make no sense.
But I had to check. I had to see.
Instead, the view confirmed the opposite.
It wasn't just a different house, or a different city. It was a different era entirely.
Cobblestone streets. Wooden carts. Chimneys puffing smoke. The faint sound of a bell ringing from the market. The clothes hanging on the lines. Everything screamed 19th or early 20th century… but not my 19th century.
And definitely not my world.
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Okay. So it's real. I'm here.
If this world truly was the one from the novel I'd read—My Elixir of Hope—then maybe I wasn't entirely lost. At least it wasn't a dystopia filled with monsters, undead armies, or dragons breathing fire on the innocent.
(Please, God, don't let there be any of that.)
For now, it was just… humans. Their mess, their politics, their drama.
That, at least, I could handle.
But why I'd been thrown into this world. Or why I'd ended up as "Anna," a background character with no role in the original plot.
But if I was here, I had no choice.
I had to survive.