I'm Destined for Death

Read, Sip, Repeat

Time check, it’s 1 pm.

The walk to the coffee shop is quiet. It’s tucked between a bakery and an old bookstore, the kind of place you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it.

Inside, the scent of roasted coffee and old pages fills the air. Warm, golden lighting spills across wooden shelves lined with books. The place isn’t crowded, just a few students typing away on laptops, a couple chatting softly in the corner.

Behind the counter, an older man is cleaning a mug with a rag. He looks up when I step in.

“First time here?” he asks. His voice is low, steady.

I nod. “Yeah, I just heard about this place.”

He smiles. “Well, take your time. Books are free to read as long as you don’t spill coffee on them.”

I ordered a cheap Iced Americano and found a seat by the window. The book selection is huge, but one catches my eye, a dark blue hardcover with no lettering, no clue what this book is about.

I picked it up and tried to flip through the pages. The pages were so old some were stuck together.

I gently pried them apart, a slight crinkle filling the air. As I continued flipping through the book, the ink faded in places, the text appearing smudged and worn. It felt like I was holding a piece of the past, something too fragile to be touched, yet impossible to ignore.

A strange sensation prickled at the back of my neck, as though the book was watching me. I shook the feeling away, telling myself it was just exhaustion talkin—

“Medium Iced Americano for Dianne”

I looked up, blinking away the strange feeling, and spotted the barista sliding a cup of iced coffee across the counter.

“Uh, that’s me,” I said, my voice a little too shaky as I stood and grabbed the cup.

I sat back down at the window, the book still open in front of me, but my attention was now split. He was staring at me, even when I got back to my seat. I took a sip of the Americano, the bitterness grounding me, and tried to shake off the strange uneasiness creeping up my spine.

The book’s pages were still calling to me, but my eyes kept darting to the street outside. Something about this place felt... off. The quiet hum of the coffee shop, the warm golden light spilling over everything—it felt like a scene from a dream. But the dream felt too real. I glanced back at the book. The faded ink, the strange sensation of familiarity...

I finally read through it.

The kingdom of Rivenvale had always been one of rigid lines and unyielding power. The walls of the castle towered high above the surrounding lands, a silent testament to the monarchy’s rule. Within those stone walls, everything was expected to be in its place, controlled, orderly—everything except for the two people who had no business falling in love.

Seraphine had always known her place. As the daughter of a merchant, she was a commoner, and a poor one at that. Yet, her beauty and grace had earned her a position at the royal court, where she caught the eye of Prince Alistair, the kingdom’s youngest heir. Their first meeting had been brief—a fleeting exchange of glances across the grand ballroom—but it was enough.

The prince, with his dark, stormy eyes, was not like the others. He was not the perfect image of a monarch-in-the-making. His gaze often seemed distant, his thoughts pulled into darker corners. Seraphine had never been afraid of him, though many others were. She saw something beyond the cold walls he built around himself—something fragile, something yearning.

But Seraphine was not a noblewoman. And Prince Alistair was not free to choose whom he loved. His future had already been decided. A political marriage was promised to solidify alliances with foreign powers. His love for Seraphine was an inconvenient truth, a secret whispered in shadows.

For weeks, they exchanged stolen moments, fleeting touches, and words that tasted of longing. Every glance was a reminder of what could never be. They lived in a world where love was a luxury only those with power could afford. And yet, Seraphine could not tear herself away from him.

On the eve of his arranged marriage, Seraphine had gathered the courage to confront him. Her heart raced, her palms clammy with fear. She had no illusions that they could ever be together. But in the deep recesses of her heart, she clung to the hope that, somehow, something might change.

“Prince Alistair,” she whispered, her voice shaking with a mixture of sorrow and desire, “we can’t keep doing this.”

His gaze softened, the edges of his lips trembling into a faint, sad smile. “I know, Seraphine. But the world won’t allow us.”

In that moment, she knew it was true. The kingdom would never accept their love. Her heart, a prisoner of its own making, broke into a thousand shards.

I sighed, flipping another page of the book. "Oh, so it's just one of those stories about a poor girl liking a rich guy. People don't like it, but in the end, they're going to be together forever with a very happy ending." I muttered to myself, my voice thick with disappointment. I had expected more of a twist, something different, something that would break the mold. But no, this was just another tired, overused plotline.

But I couldn’t stop now. I had already started it, and I had this weird compulsion to finish what I began, even if it wasn’t as thrilling as I’d hoped. Maybe I could just make it through the next few chapters, then get back to the real world where nothing was this predictable.

Still, the strange sensation I had felt when I first opened the book lingered. Something about this world, this story... It felt too real. Too close.

I shrugged it off, telling myself it was just the exhaustion speaking.

In the high halls of Rivenvale’s royal castle, the leaders of the kingdom gathered in the king's private chamber, their faces grim. The tension in the air was thick, as though a storm was brewing just out of sight.

The King's Hand, a man of unyielding ambition, stood at the head of the table, his dark eyes gleaming with plans. "The prince must marry Lady Vivienne, as we'd agreed. She is the daughter of a powerful ally. The marriage will solidify the kingdom’s position and protect us from any outside threats." His words were sharp, each syllable deliberate, betraying no hesitation.

One of the church leaders, an aging bishop with a stern, unforgiving gaze, nodded in agreement. "The union is sacred. We cannot allow the prince to be distracted by the commoner, Seraphine. The girl’s beliefs—if one could even call them that—are dangerous." His voice grew cold, his fingers gripping the edges of his robe tightly. "Her lack of faith in the kingdom’s tenets is the greatest threat we face. She speaks against the authority of the church and the divine order. To allow her to influence the prince is to tear down the very foundation of our kingdom’s soul."

The bishop's voice echoed through the room, each word like a hammer strike. "She has openly rejected the teachings of the clergy, has been seen associating with rebels, and worst of all, refuses to accept the kingdom's blessed covenant with the gods. What she believes—if such reckless notions can even be called beliefs—is an affront to everything this kingdom stands for."

Lady Vivienne’s father, a power-hungry earl, clenched his fists at the table, his knuckles turning white. “The prince is betrothed to my daughter. The union will be a guarantee for my family's future. There is no place for commoners in our royal bloodline. Seraphine is a stain on our society, a reminder that power can slip through the cracks if we aren’t vigilant." His voice became more venomous as he continued. “Her scandalous behavior and brazen disregard for her position only undermine the stability of the monarchy. Letting someone like her gain influence would be the first step toward a civil war.”

A low voice interrupted him—a voice that was far more dangerous than any of the others. The Duke, a man whose power extended far beyond his lands, leaned back in his chair, his gaze like ice. "I agree with the others. The prince must marry Lady Vivienne. But we must ensure Seraphine’s place in the story remains as it was written.” He smiled, though it was devoid of warmth. “Her death will send a message. Not just to the prince, but to anyone who dares think they can rewrite the story of Rivenvale.”

The Duke’s words lingered in the air, sharp and heavy. “She is a symbol of rebellion. Seraphine has no understanding of what it means to uphold tradition. Her simple existence, her defiance of the prince’s duty to marry for power, threatens everything we’ve worked for. If she remains in the picture, she will inspire others to challenge the throne. We cannot allow this… this commoner to tear apart the careful balance we’ve created.”

The King’s Hand nodded, his expression cold. "The prince’s heart must be in the right place. Vivienne will be the key to securing not just his love, but the future of our kingdom. As for Seraphine—she must be shown her place, or she will undo everything."

The bishop raised a hand, his face twisted in disdain. “And Seraphine must be made to understand her place. She is not noble. She is not worthy of the prince. If she refuses to comply with the order of things—if she continues to whisper her dangerous thoughts—we may have to… enforce our beliefs more... forceful ways."

The room fell into an unsettling silence. Each leader understood the weight of what was being discussed. The prince’s future, the kingdom’s fate, and the life of a commoner girl—all hanging by a thread.

I paused, blinking at the page, my heart racing. "Wait, what rebellion? What death? What is happening? Did I skip a page? I don’t think so..." I quickly reread the lines, but they all seemed to match up. This wasn’t the fluffy romance I thought it was going to be. Something far darker was unfolding here—something much more dangerous than a simple love story.

The political tension, the threats, the looming death—it felt like the world I had stumbled into was way more complicated than I’d anticipated.

Was Seraphine at the center of it all? Or was she just another pawn in someone else’s game?

A strange unease settled in my chest. This was no longer just a book. The more I read, the more it felt... real.

I read more…and more…and more. Time slipped away unnoticed. I glanced at the clock and froze. It was already 2:40 p.m. I was almost late. I hadn’t even finished the book yet, and I still had to get ready for work.

With a sigh, I reluctantly closed the book and got up from my seat. I walked over to the counter where the old man was still wiping down a mug. "Excuse me," I said, my voice a bit more rushed than I intended. "Would it be okay if I kept this book and returned it like a real library book? I... I didn’t realize how much time had passed."

He looked up, raising an eyebrow but smiling warmly. "Well, it’s not really a library, miss. But I suppose if you’re planning on returning it, I could make an exception. Just be careful with it. Books like that… they tend to hold onto secrets." His smile deepened, like he knew something I didn’t.

I nodded, a little unsettled by his words. "I’ll be careful, promise." I grabbed my things and hurried out the door. As I stepped outside, the warm afternoon light should have felt grounding, but instead, it only made the weight in my bag feel heavier—like the book wasn’t just paper and ink, but something alive, something waiting.