I wake up screaming, as one does when they dream of their body burning. Although the physical pain is gone, the memory of it all still lingers for a few moments longer, and I stumble out of bed to rush to the mirror, checking my body for burns.


    But I’m fine, of course. It’s not real. Well, it’s not real here.


    I can’t go back. My heart hammers in my chest as the realization hits me. This is it. That was my last chapter. Because I am not surviving that. Why would I willingly return to being burned to death? I’m not a total fucking psycho.


    Like a drunk, delirious and mentally gone, I wander around my apartment with a certain aimlessness, though I’m not aimless—I’m searching for the book. I pause. No, I can’t just read the end of the first book. Because there are two more books. I have no idea what will happen if I’m fucking dead (or, rather, Eliana is fucking dead), and I don’t skip to the absolute end of the series. What if I fall asleep and wake up in Eliana’s body, buried six feet under?!


    Maybe I’m being paranoid, but why take a risk now? I can’t just read the ending of The Tales of Alvione or the ending of The Tales of Ward, its less popular sequel—I have to read the ending of The Final Tale, the last book in the series. That’s the end of the story. No spinoffs, no sequels—the complete and utter ending.


    Except there’s a problem. I left my copy of The Final Tale at my parents’ place, several states away. I never gave much of a fuck about the two other books in the series—the first one was always the best one, since Leon was in it prominently. So The Tales of Alvione is the only one I still have with me.


    Guess I’m going to a bookstore.


    I start getting dressed with an urgency that is almost embarrassing. I’m stumbling around in a fit of panic and confusion, looking for my shoes, putting my pants on backwards, spilling the contents of my purse all over the floor—you’d think I was on fire right now.


    Then a new, fun, paranoid thought hits me. What if on the way to the bookstore, I’m hit by a bus and knocked unconscious? Besides that being a great intrusive thought on any day, it’s an even greater one today, because it could mean being stuck burning to death slowly with no idea of what to do.


    I need a backup plan. I need to look up how to survive a fire.


    I stomp over to my bedroom, one boot on, and lay down on my bed, for once in my life not giving a shit about getting my dirty shoe on the comforter. With two tense hands, I grip my pillow and scream into it, “I HATE EVERYTHING.”


    Then I take a deep breath, pull my phone out of my pocket, and Google how to survive a fire.


    Turns out “stop, drop, and roll” was an oversimplification. Unsurprisingly. Though Google AI’s step one, “don’t panic,” is not particularly helpful advice either, as I’m already quite panicked and don’t plan on stopping any time soon.


    As my shaky fingers sweep across the screen, scrolling down to, god forbid, page two of Google, I see a text come in from Adam: How are you?


    I let out an exasperated scream. This man’s timing is fucking amazing! As if I wasn’t already about to go fucking apeshit!


    A loud knock at my door has me shutting up quick. Fuck. My neighbors probably think I’m insane. And sadly, I fear they’re right. After taking a deep breath and pressing my fingertips together in an attempt to calm their shaking (a failed attempt; it does nothing), I stumble over to the front door and open it, a pained apology already on my lips.


    “Yo,” Trix says. Her rough voice is like music to my ears. She glances down at my outfit, if you could even call it that, and smirks. “Are your pants on backwards?”


    I blink and totally ignore her question. “You’re here.” She is. And she looks nice. Did she dress up to see me? Or does she always look this good? I can’t help but let my eyes travel over her, my mind automatically buzzing with memories of our past encounter, of the way she felt, of how she tasted. I notice that she’s put these pretty little silver rings in her hair, and she’s got red lipstick on today. Her cheeks have been swept in iridescent highlighter that makes her glow almost ethereally, and she’s wearing a short black miniskirt and mesh tights that have my brain short circuiting in a new way as I imagine sticking my face in between—NOPE! Focus.


    She tilts her head at me, the silver hoops in her ears swaying with her. “Well . . . yeah.”


    I forgot what I said already. But then I say something stupid. “Did we have plans?” I realize how icy that came out way too late, but my head is whirring with information about fires and smoke inhalation and kissing Trix and fucking Trix and—


    Her smirk disappears, a frown taking its place. “No,” she says flatly. “I just thought I’d come by to say hey. Is that okay with you?”


    Now she sounds fucking icy. “Yeah, of course,” I babble. I stumble back into my apartment, my foot sliding out of my one boot as I motion for her to enter. “Come in. You can come by anytime.”The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Well, don’t I sound pathetic? She furrows her brow at me and takes a hesitant step into the apartment. “Are you okay?”


    “I’m just . . . I just . . .” Then I burst into tears.


    I guess it was my embarrassment that finally broke the dam. Before I can collapse to my knees, sobbing stupidly, she wraps her arms around me and holds me up. “What’s wrong? What happened?” she asks worriedly.


    “I’m burning to death in Alvione,” I wail.


    “You’re . . .” She sputters out a laugh. “Sorry, it’s not funny.” She strokes my back comfortingly as she holds me up. She’s surprisingly strong, and I find myself leaning against her chest. “But you’re okay here, so that’s good. What can I do to help?”


    “H-help?” There’s nothing she can do to help. I need Martin. I need . . . Wait. She can help. “Could you . . . pick up a book for me? From the library or a bookstore? It’s called The Final Tale by Alys Stone. I’ll pay you back, of course,” I add, sounding positively frantic.


    She just stares at me for a moment. “You serious?”


    I nod. “Dead.”


    “Dead?”


    “Dead serious.”


    “God damn it.” She crosses her arms. “I’m not Amazon, you know.” But the way she says it makes it sound like she’s about to fold. She reaches toward me and runs her fingers through my hair, fixing it quietly. Her touch is gentle, nurturing. I smile up at her hopefully, trying to not look as pitiful as I feel. She sighs. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” Then she holds out her hand.


    “You’re a fucking life saver. No, you’re an angel. A beautiful, perfect angel!”


    “Just give me the money,” she groans, rolling her eyes. Still, I can see the smallest of smiles on her face. Flattery gets you everywhere.


    I look around for my purse and see its scattered contents all over the floor. Oh, right. I get on all fours and crawl around looking for my wallet while she watches with a bemused smile. Where the fuck . . .


    “There.” She’s pointing to something sticking out under the couch. My wallet. I scramble over to it and grab it, then pull out thirty dollars. Surely that’ll be enough. I hold it up to her triumphantly, and she snatches it from my hand. “I’ll be back. Don’t do anything stupid.”


    “You’re a god! You’re the most beautiful, most perfect person in the whole world—”


    “Bye, Rose.” She flashes me a quick grin, then looks me over one last time before she leaves. “You look better not sunburned.” I feel my face flush, but she’s gone before I can say anything back. The door shuts behind her, and I’m met with silence and the mess around me.


    Then my phone dings with a text. I feel a surge of frustration swelling in my gut. Adam better not be—


    But it’s not Adam. It’s Jenna, asking where the fuck I am. Oh shit. It’s a work day. I totally forgot.


    I stare at my phone and know with every fiber of my being that I can’t go in today. No fucking way. I’m calling in sick. After a realistic pause, I type out a quick text to Jenna that says I can’t stop puking and shitting, and I think I have a stomach bug. After a painful pause, she finally likes my text and leaves it at that.


    Good enough. I mean, honestly, who fucking cares about work right now! A bitch is burning to death! Hello!


    So I return to reading about surviving a fire. The gist of it is that I don’t want to breathe in so much smoke that I pass out and that I need to find a way out of the room. No offense, but fucking duh, man—I coulda told you that! Though being advised to stay low to the ground and crawl my way out is probably advice I needed to hear, even if it now sounds like the most obvious thing in the world.


    Okay. Time to focus.


    I close my eyes, sitting meditatively on the floor, surrounded by the random junk from my purse, and visualize the castle library. As far as I know, there’s only two exits: the door that I’d entered in the first place and the big windows facing the garden. One of those windows is smashed to bits. If it weren’t for the fact that the dragon was right outside it when I’d left Alvione, the window would be the most obvious escape. I think it’s on the second floor—and those are some tall floors—but surely a fall would be preferable to whatever would happen to me if I didn’t jump. But because of the fucking dragon, I should probably try the door first. It says online that if the door or the handle is hot, it could mean that there’s just as much fire on the other side of it. Still, it’s the only exit I know about, so what else am I supposed to do? Get eaten by the dragon? Lay on the ground until the fire dies out, which it won’t because the damn window is letting oxygen in? Why don’t these fire safety websites address dragon attacks?!


    I decide I’ll use my silly little queen dress as an oven mitt to tear the door open. And if that doesn’t work, then I’ll go out the window, dragon or no dragon. I’m not sure this is the best plan, but it’s all Plan B anyway. Plan A is to end this story where it is.


    Right?


    I find myself thinking about Martin, Leon, and Peter. Miri even. Are the elves still there in the castle too? How many people will die? Is there anything I could even do for them if I stayed? Would they hate me for giving up, or would they understand?


    Then I realize what I’ve failed to do: check the Wiki. What if Eliana doesn’t even die?


    I close the fire safety tabs on my phone and search up the Wiki.


    Well. It’s not good news. Eliana dies in the fire.


    Worse yet, so do Martin and Peter, who, idiots that they are, try to get other people out and end up perishing as a result. Martin teleports into a room that immediately collapses on him, causing him to fall unconscious and, ultimately, die. Peter goes looking for me—which is nice, I guess, except for the fact that he too ends up backed into a corner and passes out from smoke inhalation, which leads to his death as well. Leon’s the only one who makes it out, because he has enough sense not to go back into the burning building once he’s outside. Though it’s not very heroic of him, it is the only reason he doesn’t keel over like the rest of them.


    Interestingly, or perhaps annoyingly, it’s not clear why the dragon shows up at all. All the Wiki says is that it seems to be searching for something as it flies overhead, “perhaps a particular person to burn or an object to recover.” I love how no one questions this literary loose end! Fantastic.


    More interestingly, once Eliana dies, the novel doesn’t just end. It keeps going.


    I’m not sure if reading the ending text will affect where I appear in the dream, especially given that I’m reading an online copy of the text and not from the book itself. But I doubt it, given that the text just says over and over again for seventy-eight pages straight:


    ERROR: SEED VALUE MISSING. ALISTRIA OKUTA DOES NOT EXIST. ERROR: SEED VALUE MISSING. ALISTRIA OKUTA DOES NOT EXIST. ERROR: SEED VALUE MISSING. ALISTRIA OKUTA DOES NOT EXIST.