Don’t Turn That Page, She’ll Come Out

Something strange happened to me.

The fairy-tale collection my family brought back from Europe glows gold at night. I couldn't resist turning a page, and Cinderella crawled out of a chimney. She emerged from an abandoned, dry well on the outskirts of the city.

She wore a tattered dress, had only one shoe, and was covered in soot. Standing in the streets of an unfamiliar city, she didn't even know what traffic lights were.

I thought she was the only one.

But then I realized I could not only “see” them, I could also climb into the book.

On my first transmigration, I landed in the world of Snow White. The prince who was supposed to wake the princess with a kiss didn't kiss her. He rescued me in the forest, took a sword meant for me, and looked at me with something I couldn't explain.

I told him he wasn't like the way he was written in the story.

He asked me, “Then how does the story describe me?”

I didn't dare tell him the truth.

Because on the next page I turned to, Snow White was smiling at the mirror, and reflected in it was a face...

Mine.

Don't turn that page. She'll come out.

But I've already lost track of who belongs in the book.

That's when I realized this tattered book was imprisoning a group of original heroines whose endings had been rewritten.

And the most terrifying thing was this:

When I turned to a blank page, a hand reached out from the book and dragged me inside.

Welcome to “True Fairy Tales.”