The heavy rain outside was clearly visible through the window. Inside the room, the air was thick with the scent of antiseptic, mixed with the chill of the air conditioning, creating a silent and desolate atmosphereLyra, who had just turned thirty, sat on the hospital bed, her fingers clutching a piece of paper that had shattered her life in an instant.

Her hands trembled as she read the letter, her gaze vacant as she processed the words. Her husband, who had been with her for five years, had betrayed her and filed for divorce after the birth of their child, without a word of explanation.  However, the most devastating truth was the belief that her newborn child would not survive.

Some time ago, a nurse had entered her room, informing her that her baby could not be saved. Her heart had stopped beating at that moment, and the world around her had fallen silent. She couldn't feel anything, not even the tears that began to stream down her face.

Her son... couldn't survive?

The burden shattered something deep within her. The tears that had initially started flowing slowly became uncontrollable, and sobs escaped her lips. She desperately wanted to deny this reality, to fight it in any way, but no matter how much she cried, it changed nothing.

How could everything disappear like this? Her husband had left her, and now her son—her baby—was gone before she had even seen his eyes open or heard his first cry. She was now truly alone in this world. She clutched the divorce papers tighter, the paper crumpling in her grip. The pain in her chest was suffocating, making it difficult to breathe.

What was she living for now? What was the point?

These questions haunted her mind for months. After leaving the hospital, she lost the will to live. There were many times when she considered ending it all with something sharp, but each time, someone had stopped her.

That person was Atika, her best friend, the only person who still cared.

"Lyra, stop! You're not alone. I'm here with you!" Atika screamed one night, finding Lyra in her apartment with blood-stained hands, the sharp object still in her grasp. Trembling, Atika took it from her.

But Lyra just stared at her with an empty gaze. "So what am I supposed to do? I have no reason to live, Atika..."

Atika cried, hugging her tightly, and they spent the night together in shared sorrow. The next morning, Atika suggested taking Lyra to a psychiatric hospital for help. She believed Lyra needed professional care.

Lyra had given up, her hand held tightly by her friend as they walked into the white building that now felt so foreign.

 "Lyra, I brought you here not because you're crazy," Atika said, kneeling before her, her eyes full of concern. "I want you to be happy again. I want to see you smile again, live again. I know you're hurt, but you're not alone. I'll always be here for you."

Her voice trembled with emotion, and her hand grasped Lyra's, warm and reassuring, as if wanting to prove that the world wasn't completely destroyed. Lyra wanted to believe her. She wanted to reach for the outstretched hand, but could she truly move on after all she had lost?

A year had passed since Atika brought her here. On her first day, Lyra's gaze was vacant, but slowly, small changes began to appear. She started responding to greetings, then speaking to the doctor, albeit only a few words. Atika visited her occasionally, and little by little, Lyra's condition began to improve.

The doctor had confirmed that Lyra was recovering from her depression.

During her last checkup, Lyra saw a book on the doctor's desk, something that piqued her curiosity. There was something about the book that seemed to draw her attention.

"What's that...?" she asked softly, pointing towards it.

The doctor smiled gently, picked up the book, and glanced at it before answering.

"Oh, it's just a cliché tragedy novel," she said. "While reading it, I was reminded of you, Lyra. The main character strongly reminds me of you."

Lyra looked at the doctor, waiting for more.

"But he has a bad ending," the doctor continued softly. "At least, it's different from where you are now."

Lyra was silent for a moment, then dared to ask, "Can I read it?"

The doctor sighed, clearly worried. "No, I don't recommend it," she said firmly. "It could trigger your trauma. It's not the right time for you."

However, Lyra, despite her hesitation, felt a strong urge to read the book. The thought was too powerful to ignore.

"Please... I want to read it," she said softly but firmly.

The doctor looked at her with a mixture of doubt and warmth, her affection for Lyra like that of a sister. After a brief pause, she finally nodded.

"Alright," the doctor conceded, "but remember, your recovery isn't over. If anything happens, contact me immediately. Do you understand?"

 Lyra nodded, clutching the book tightly to her chest. "I understand, Doctor."

She looked at the cover, her fingers tracing it gently. Then, without further thought, she opened it and began to read.

As she delved deeper into the novel, she felt a strange connection with the main character, Keith Hale, a Marquis who lost everything because he couldn't let go of his old love. His broken heart led him down a path of betrayal, ruin, and a tragic death.

For the first time in months, Lyra cried not for herself, but for Keith. She knew the story was fictional, but the emotions it evoked within her were real. The more she read, the more she saw herself in Keith—betrayed, broken, and lost.

"You fool. Why can't you let go?" Lyra whispered to the pages, speaking to the man in the novel. "Why do you keep choosing the same path even though you know it will only lead to destruction?"

 Three days later, after finishing the book, Lyra's eyes were swollen from crying. She didn't even realize how much time had passed until it was night. She closed the book and stared at the ceiling, her mind still filled with the tragedy of Keith's story. A mixture of sympathy and frustration still lingered in her heart. She wanted to shake Keith, yell at him to stop hurting himself—but what was the point? Keith was just a character.

Sighing deeply, she tried to calm her racing thoughts. The cool night air touched her skin, and her eyelids felt heavy.

Without warning, Lyra's body felt strange, as if she were floating or being carried away by a current. She wanted to open her eyes, but they felt too heavy. When she finally did open them, everything around her had changed.

The bed she was lying on no longer felt like a hospital bed. It was large, soft, and luxurious. She looked around the room, her heart pounding. The walls were golden, opulent.

"What is this...?" she murmured softly.

She stood up, her steps unsteady as she surveyed her unfamiliar surroundings. This wasn't a hospital room. There was no antiseptic smell here. The room was far more luxurious than anything she had ever known. A large mirror stood in the corner of the room, and as Lyra approached, her steps faltered.

When she saw her reflection, her eyes widened. Her long, wavy white hair cascaded down her back, and deep crimson eyes stared back at her. Her skin was as pale as porcelain, and her face was flawless, too perfect to be the woman she knew.

She reached out to touch her cheek, her fingers trembling as she contemplated the impossibility of what she was seeing.

"This... isn't me..." she whispered incredulously.

Just then, there was a knock at the door, making her jump. She hadn't even processed what had happened when someone else came looking for her.

The door creaked open, revealing a woman in a black and white maid's uniform. Her calm face showed a hint of apprehension as she bowed politely.

"Excuse me, Lady Celestia. Are you awake now?" Her soft voice filled the room.

Lyra remained silent, her eyes narrowed in confusion. The name "Celestia" felt foreign to her—who was Celestia?