I always had a question... “If an author created the world with words, but it came alive in the reader's mind, who truly owned the story–the one who built it, or the one who believed in it?” Will I finally get the answer? ... A world that wasn't supposed to exist. A life that held no meaning. Why was I here? Inside a novel, inside the body of someone I wasn't supposed to be in, and... A world that made me question my existence at every step I took. What was my destiny?