I transmigrated into an angsty novel as the male lead's beloved, who was destined to die young.
According to the plot, I was supposed to save him at his lowest point, then die of illness and become the cinnabar mark in his heart.
But I never expected that the boy I saved would later destroy an entire dynasty for me. Nor did I expect that, when he learned I was destined to die, he would go mad trying to defy fate.
Looking at his bloodshot eyes, I had no choice but to tell him the truth: I was just a character in a book, and my death was already written into the ending.
He froze, then smiled. It was a kind of madness I had never seen in him before.
“Then I'll burn this book to ashes.”
