The Page That Swallowed Me
1648 Words
Rain pattered against the window of Ysabel Reyes’s cramped apartment, the gray afternoon light smudging across her cluttered desk. Empty coffee cups, half-torn manuscript pages, and rejection emails stared back at her like silent judges.
Another no. Another polite, mechanical thank you for your submission, but your story isn’t the right fit for us.
Her heart felt numb to it now, but that didn’t stop the sting.
Ysabel dropped the latest printed rejection onto the pile and rubbed her temple. Three years of writing, editing, sleepless nights… and still nothing.
She glanced at the open document on her laptop—the title glowing on the screen like a cruel joke:
The Unloved Luna.
A story about a woman named Elara, a rejected mate doomed to suffer under her ruthless Alpha, Celdric of CrestMoon Pack. It was the darkest book Ysabel had ever written—born from her own pain, her own sense of invisibility. Every page she’d poured her loneliness into had turned into Elara’s tragedy.
Now, it sat unfinished.
“I created you,” she whispered bitterly at the screen. “And even you got more attention than I ever did.”
She leaned back in her chair, exhaustion pulling at her bones. Maybe she should quit. Maybe writing just wasn’t meant for her.
Outside, thunder cracked sharply. The lights flickered, and Ysabel glanced up—then back at her screen. Something strange flickered across the text. Words began rearranging themselves. Sentences she never typed appeared.
> “On the day of her downfall, Elara will open her eyes to a truth she cannot escape.”
Her pulse quickened.
“What the hell…” she murmured, reaching for the keyboard.
Before her fingers touched it, the screen flared white. The apartment dissolved around her in a burst of blinding light and the echo of her own scream—
Then, silence...
---
When Ysabel opened her eyes again, she wasn’t in her apartment. She was lying on a cold marble floor. The scent of herbs and blood filled the air.
Her head throbbed. Something heavy and unfamiliar weighed on her—layers of silk and lace.
“What… is this place?” she whispered, sitting up.
Dozens of eyes were staring at her. Servants. Guards... Strange faces
“What is going on here? Where am I?" She looked the strange dress on her body, at the guards again, and in front of them all, a tall man with eyes like a winter storm— sat down on a large black throne.
“Who are you?” She asked him but he frowned deeply. His storming eyes, void of warmth.
"Elara....!" His voice boomed loudly, "Don’t dare my patience" His icy tone sent shivers.
"Me? Elara...? What is going on?"
“What is she saying? Is she pretending not to recognise Alpha Celdric?” The servants murmur.
“Alpha Celdric! Like a werewolf Alpha…?”
Her breath caught in her throat. No way.
Looking closer at him, a wave of pain suddenly hit her and a flash of the last minutes of her life, and a flash page of her describing the face to which that name belongs, floods her brain. She’d written it.
Chiseled jaw. Cold gaze. The ruthless, yet a weakminded Alpha who rejected his own mate for a scheming mistress.
Her heart thundered. “No, no, no, this can’t be—”
“ELARA!” a voice screamed.
Ysabel turned—and saw a young woman clutching her stomach, writhing on the floor. A puddle of red stained her pale dress.
The pregnant mistress. Liora.
The same Liora who, in Chapter Twelve, would accuse Elara of poisoning her.
“Wait a minute! This isn't real, right? Just a glimpse into my imagination” Ysabel spilled out then laughed loudly before she could react.
"Has she gone mad out of guilt?"
Maybe the moon Goddess has struck her with insanity in payment for her pretentious life!" The servants whispered among themselves.
“What isn’t real? The fact that you finally got rid of my baby, or that you tried… tried to kill me?” A weak voice spoke out and Ysabel turned to her direction.
“I meant this, all these aren't real! I will just close my eyes, and wake up back again in my room !” She said and proceeded to close her eyes but her eyes went wide open when she felt a sharp sting on her face.
“Quit the pretense, you wretched, cursed woman! I wish to end you here, right now, but that will be too merciful for you!” The alpha said with his red eyes glaring at her.
“This.. this… is actually real? I am now in my own novel?” Ysabel’s stomach dropped.
She turned again to carefully look around the surroundings and at the servants murmuring, and one pointed at her trembling hands—hands that were stained with something dark.”But how is it possible?”
“How? Sister! You sent poisoned tea to me and you are still asking how?” Loira said, her pale face, and red nose bring fresh mucus.
Celdric’s face twists slightly, aura burst outward like a storm, fury radiating from him. “You dare harm my child?” he roared, his voice shaking the walls.
Ysabel stumbled backward, choking on disbelief. “Okay, this f*****g real... But, then, this is supposed to be happening in Chapter twelve! Did my presence change the storyline?"
And in that moment, the horrifying truth finally hit her like lightning.
She wasn’t Ysabel Reyes anymore.
She was Elara—the unloved Luna-to-be, framed for poisoning the Alpha’s mistress.
And in her own story… This was the scene that started Elara’s downfall.
While the great hall remains in thick silence. Only the muffling of feets afar and Loira’s broken sobs filled the air.
Ysabel —no, Elara—remain frozen where she was. Her heart beat so loud it completely drown out her thoughts, while pairs of gray eyes she once described as winter storms now glared straight into her soul.
“Speak,” he said, voice rough and sharp. “Did you poison Loira? Did you harm my child?”
“I didn’t,” Elara said, her voice shaking. “I didn’t do anything!”
But her words barely carried. No one moved. No one believed her.
Loira whimpered from where she sat, clutching her stomach. Her pale face glistened with tears, her voice trembling as she began to speak.
“Sister, why are you doing this?” she cried. “I know you hate me because the Alpha insisted on being with me… but I never wanted to come between you two!”
Elara stared at her, too stunned to answer.
“I tried to live in peace with you,” Loira went on, her sobs growing louder. “Even when you humiliated me, I stayed silent. How could you hate your own sister this much?”
Gasps spread across the hall. Servants whispered. A few even looked away, pitying Loira.
Elara’s lips parted, disbelief twisting in her chest. What a performance. Her supposed stepsister’s tears shone under the torchlight like jewels, every sob perfectly timed. If she hadn’t written Loira’s true nature herself, even she might have fallen for the act.
But she knew the truth. Loira wasn’t pregnant.
“She’s lying,” Elara said, her voice low but steady. “Loira isn’t pregnant. She never was.”
The room went dead silent again.
Celdric’s eyes darkened. “What did you just say?”
“She’s not pregnant,” Elara repeated. “She faked it. She—she’s pretending to have lost a child that doesn’t exist!”
Loira gasped, one trembling hand pressed to her mouth. “Sister, please… stop saying such horrible things!” she cried, shaking her head as if heartbroken. “What do you stand to gain from doing this? Slandering me, and my deceased unborn child? How could you? You’re only making things worse for us as sisters!”
Celdric turned to Elara, fury blazing. “If your words are false, I’ll have your head before sunrise.”
Elara’s breath caught, but she didn’t back down. “Then let the head healer examine her,” she said quickly. “He’ll tell us the truth. Right here. In front of everyone.”
The Alpha’s jaw tightened. His power rolled off him like thunder. “Fine. Guards! Bring the head healer.”
Two guards bowed and hurried out.
Loira lowered her head, her tears falling fast—but her lips curved for a brief second into a tiny smirk. So quick no one took notice or saw it.
Actually, this is exactly what Loira had planned this. Every step. Every tear. To get rid of every obstacles on her path to fulfilling her grand ambitions and also to protect her secret lover, she had to take this step and blame someone for it. And who else should take the bait other than her unloved step sister?.
Elara’s fingers clenched by her sides. She forced herself to breathe, to think. She needed proof—something, anything—that could expose her stepsister before it was too late.
As the guards’ footsteps faded down the hall, she could feel everyone watching her. Judging... Waiting for her downfall.
Loira sniffled softly, leaning against Celdric’s arm as he wrapped it protectively around her. “Please,” she whispered, “don’t hurt her. She’s still my sister.”
“If she isn't guilty” Celdric reply but gave a small nod, her voice was soft, broken, and full of false mercy.
Elara almost laughed. If this wasn’t her story, she would’ve admired the act.
But this wasn’t fiction anymore.
This was her life.
And if the healer didn’t uncover the truth soon—she’d die in the same scene she once wrote.
- Writer
