The little princess woke up in her bed inside the tower.

It was just another ordinary day in the tenth year of her imprisonment—no prince, no dragon, only a sliver of dull sky visible through the narrow window above.

Yet she had stared at that same patch of sky for ten long years.

Rubbing her eyes like a drowsy cat, she sat up, fumbled for her dress on the bed, slipped it on, and slowly pondered what to do.

All the books were read. Chess against herself had lost its charm. The tower was too cramped for any real pastime.

So, as always, she decided to go back to sleep.

Human adaptability was astonishing. After nearly a decade locked away, she’d somehow developed the odd habit of sleeping for over ten days straight.

But honestly? It was just forced adaptation.

She opened her eyes, sipped water from the nightstand cup, lay back down—and immediately regretted putting the dress on while half-asleep.

After all, if she was sleeping again, she should’ve taken it off first.

The same sky framed by the tiny window. The same bright, cheerful weather. The same boring, endless stretch of time.

Everything was exactly as usual.

But… something felt different.

Because suddenly, a voice spoke to her.

"Hey? Are you there?"

A lovely female voice. And its source was…

She listened carefully, heart thumping. The voice seemed to come from *inside* her mind.

How could anyone speak inside someone else’s mind?

A little scared but gathering courage, she whispered, "Who are you?"

"Um… I’m another you."

"Another me?" She blinked in surprise. "But how could there be another me in this world?"

This was a fairy tale world—no psychology, no one to explain concepts like dissociative identity disorder.

And honestly, her situation wasn’t that anyway. It was far stranger, far more tangled—a condition even Bian Que would’ve met with three hopeless diagnoses in a row.

But none of that mattered. What mattered was the gentle chuckle inside her head:

"Of course there isn’t another you *here*—because I’m from another world."

"Another world?"

"Yes. And I’m here to help you, little princess."

"…Help me?"

Her swinging bare feet stilled at the edge of the bed. Confused, she gently bit her finger.

"But what do I need help with? I don’t think I need anything."

"Oh, you do," the voice whispered. "Like getting out. Saving the dragon and the prince. Finding the one true path to a Happy Ending amid endless wrong choices…"

"And clearing this infuriating broken game—in one life."

At first, one voice. Then two—seductive and childish—blending, overlapping. One faded. Only the childish one remained.

The suppressed consciousness awakened. Forgotten memories returned.

The little princess was no longer the same.

Because a power-leveler had logged in.

The "bad woman," now fused with the princess’s memories, took control. Barefoot, she stepped to the window, gazing toward the king’s quarters with a faint, knowing smile.

"What should I say now?" Princess Pro murmured, slightly vexed.

"'No deaths, guaranteed win'? Or… 'This game’s in the bag'?"

She sighed for no reason.

…

The Witch was a spirit blessed by the world. The little princess was the Fairy Tale Kingdom’s cherished child.

So the "bad woman"—no, *she was the princess now*—could wield her innate powers effortlessly: accelerating plant growth, healing wounds… and slipping past things unnoticed.

While the tower wasn’t looking, she stood on solid ground.

While the guards weren’t looking, she strolled openly through the palace.

While the walls weren’t looking, she stepped into the queen’s chambers.

What comes to mind with a fairy tale queen?

Villainy. Jealousy. Poisoned apples. And of course… the Magic Mirror that answers every question.

She remembered seeing the queen talk to a mirror from her tower window. *That* must’ve been it.

She approached the wall-mounted mirror, face innocent, voice sweet:

"Magic Mirror, Magic Mirror, tell me—who is the fairest of all?"

Silence. No text. No reaction. Just an ordinary-looking glass.

She smiled innocently, hands clasped behind her back.

"Magic Mirror… back in my homeland, when an appliance breaks? There’s only one fix—beat it till it works."

"Wanna try our local remedy?"

She pulled out a brick she’d picked up earlier and waved it gently.

The mirror trembled. Text shimmered onto its surface:

"Your faithful servant awaits your command, madam. Please state your inquiry."

"Huh?" She tilted her head. "It worked *before* I hit it? Weird… but hey, functional is functional."

Holding the brick, she pondered. "Is the prophecy about me… correct?"

"It is correct."

She stared at the three archaic fairy-tale characters glowing on the glass.

"Then… what’s the *full* prophecy?"

"Apologies, madam, your clearance level is insuffi—"

"Hmm?" She wiggled the brick.

The half-formed text vanished. New words bloomed:

"The king’s youngest daughter shall slay him. Thereafter, the little princess shall become queen of the Fairy Tale Kingdom."

*The true prophecy.* Not the twisted version spread across the kingdom.

She finally understood.

Beyond reason. Within expectation.

If the fake prophecy were true, every dream should’ve ended with prince, dragon, happily-ever-after.

But in Dream Two, the prince died. The moment he fell, the prophecy broke.

So the error wasn’t in the prophecy—it was in the telling. Rumors twist. Lies spread.

But she never imagined the *entire* prophecy had been swapped.

And the fake one? Originated by the king himself.

Pieces clicked into place.

Ten years ago, a witch passed through the Fairy Tale Kingdom. At the king’s request, she prophesied: his youngest daughter would kill him and claim the throne.

Like Cronus fearing Zeus, the king couldn’t accept it. Too soft to kill her himself, he built the tower, locked her away, and spread a comforting lie.

The people believed. No blame fell on him.

He slept soundly… never guessing the servant who brought her meals would sail away, become a prince, pass the Lady of the Lake’s trial.

Never guessing a bored, full dragon would fly overhead, spot the caged princess, and fall madly in love.

She smiled.

Maybe the king should’ve been a witch.

Who else could "predict" the future so accidentally perfectly?

*That’s* professional fortune-telling.

Fate really was laughable—truth unfulfilled, while a liar’s fiction raced ahead to become reality.

Leisurely, she unhooked the near-life-sized mirror from the wall.

The glass flickered nervously: "Madam… what are you doing?"

"Taking you," she said, tilting her head. "Couldn’t you tell?"

Silence.

She hoisted it onto her shoulder, humming a hometown tune.

"Heavenly treasures go to those with destiny. You look *very* treasure-like. My room needs a mirror… clearly fate."

"Come on then—upstairs with me."

Without waiting for reply, she grunted slightly, carried the mirror out of the queen’s chamber, and headed toward her tower.

Pure harvest-day joy.

[To be continued]