I Didn't Kill

Shama’s mind raced, her heart thundering in her chest as she stared at the girl lying motionless on the cold floor. The sight of the knife still embedded in the girl's stomach sent a wave of nausea through her, and her hands trembled violently. *What have I done?*

Her breath quickened as she struggled to think. She knelt beside the girl, desperate to check for any signs of life. With trembling fingers, she pressed them against the side of the girl's neck, feeling for a pulse. Her other hand hovered over the girl’s mouth, waiting for even the faintest breath. A few agonizing seconds passed. Then—there. A weak flutter beneath her fingertips, and the shallow rise and fall of the girl's chest.

“She’s still alive...” Shama whispered in disbelief, her voice cracking. Relief rushed through her, only to be replaced by raw panic. She was no doctor—she didn’t know how to fix this. But if she didn’t do something, the girl would bleed out right in front of her.

Her mind scrambled, trying to remember anything useful she had ever read or seen. *Don’t pull out the knife. Apply pressure. Stop the bleeding.* She ripped off strips of fabric from her gown with shaking hands.

She glanced around wildly, and her gaze landed on a fountain in the center of the hall. She stumbled toward it, her legs nearly giving out beneath her. Splashing water everywhere, she soaked the torn cloth before rushing back to the girl’s side. Carefully, she pressed the wet fabric around the base of the knife, doing her best not to disturb it. Blood seeped into her makeshift bandage, staining her hands and gown.

“Just hold on... Please...” she whispered, her voice breaking. Her hands were slick with blood, and the sight made her stomach churn, but she forced herself to keep working. *I can’t let her die.*

The sudden crash of the doors slamming open made her flinch. Shama whipped her head around, and a tall figure stormed into the hall.

The man moved like a storm—swift, purposeful, and radiating a suffocating intensity. His crimson eyes, glowing with fury, locked onto the injured girl. His long black hair fell over his shoulders like silk, and the silver crown perched atop his head glinted in the dim light. He wore an elegant black robe embroidered with intricate patterns, but the regal air about him was drowned out by his obvious rage and distress.

Before Shama could react, he crossed the room in long, deliberate strides. The force with which he shoved her aside was staggering—she stumbled backward and hit the ground hard, the sharp pain in her elbows making her gasp.

The man fell to his knees beside the unconscious girl, gathering her limp form into his arms. His hands hovered over the knife embedded in her stomach, trembling slightly despite the fury etched across his face.

“Naina...” he whispered, the name carrying a depth of pain that shook Shama to her core.

Shama’s eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. *Naina... Rehan...* The faces, the names—everything matched the characters from *Mystical World of Mythical Creatures*, the comic she had been reading. But how? How was this happening?

A cold shiver ran down her spine. *Am I inside the comic? Is that even possible?* The thought was absurd, but the truth stared back at her with the red-eyed prince cradling Naina, just as described in the story.

Rehan’s gaze snapped toward her, his eyes burning with an intensity that made her shrink back.

“Kill her,” he hissed to the figure stepping through the door behind him. His voice was as sharp and cold as steel. “I want her lifeless body in my palace before dawn.”

Shama’s stomach dropped. *What? No! I didn’t do anything!* She tried to speak, to explain, but her voice caught in her throat. Rehan turned his attention back to Naina without another glance in her direction, as if she was already dead to him.

Another man entered the hall. Unlike the guards behind him, he moved with deliberate grace, exuding a calm, dangerous confidence. He was tall, dressed in dark clothing that emphasized his lean, athletic frame. His eyes—sharp and intelligent—flicked toward Shama with a look that sent chills down her spine.

This was no ordinary guard. There was something unsettling about him, something far more dangerous than his composed demeanor let on.

He stopped a few steps away from her, folding his arms across his chest, and tilted his head slightly, studying her with quiet amusement.

“You’ve finally crossed the line, Shanaya,” he said softly, his voice deceptively gentle. “Rehan’s patience with you was already thin. But now…” He chuckled under his breath, a sound devoid of warmth. “There’s no coming back from this.”

*Shanaya?* The name felt foreign, but hearing it sent a jolt of terror through Shama’s body. They thought she was Shanaya—the villainess of the story. The one who had tormented Naina and obsessed over Rehan for years.

“No, wait—” Shama stammered, her voice cracking. “I-I’m not Shanaya. You have the wrong person!”

The man’s smile was cold, almost pitying. “Amnesia? That’s the best you can come up with?” He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving hers.

Shama pressed herself against the wall, panic gripping her chest like a vice. “Please, listen—”

He raised a hand, silencing her with a look. “Do you think you can trick me, Shanaya?” he whispered, his voice dangerously soft. “I’ve known you all my life. You can fool Rehan with your games, but not me.”

His eyes darkened with something that made her blood run cold. “I’m Ekansh,” he continued, his voice steady but laced with menace. “Rehan’s most loyal friend. And I’ve been waiting for the day you’d finally go too far.”

Shama’s heart pounded in her chest. *Ekansh...* She remembered the character from the comic—Rehan’s closest friend and fiercest protector. In the story, Ekansh had always despised Shanaya for the harm she caused Naina, and now that hatred burned in his gaze.

“Do you know what I think, Shanaya?” Ekansh murmured, leaning closer. “I think you finally got what you wanted. Rehan’s attention. Unfortunately for you…” He smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. “It’s the last thing you’ll ever have.”

He drew a dagger from his belt, the blade glinting ominously in the dim light.

Shama’s breath hitched. Her mind screamed for her to do something—anything—but terror rooted her in place. *I’m going to die here... in a world that isn’t even mine.*

Ekansh raised the dagger, his expression cold and determined.