Transmigrating into a book is perfectly normal. Transmigrating into your own story is perfectly normal, too. Even transmigrating into the steamy scenes of your own story is perfectly normal. But you, whoever you are, did I even write you in the first place? Why don't I remember you at all? The gloomy author huddles in an unknown corner, making an effort to remember. Ha. It's not just A, B, C, and D that she can't remember. Other than the protagonists, the entire world of the book is completely unfamiliar. The author throws a fit: Is this really the little... erotic novel I wrote?
