CHAPTER 66: NARRATIVE FODDER? NOT ON HER WATCH

She sat down, staring at the sunlight streaming across her floor.

"So... he’s actually going to watch my self-tape as part of the audition pool."

She’d thought exactly that last night but had brushed it off as impossible. Now... "Not just privately."

Rita wasn’t home, so when she wasn’t talking, the apartment was oddly quiet.

On the other end, Soraya made a sound between a squeal and a laugh. "Yes! Girl, do you even realize how big that is? Lennard Crewe is selective. If he sent you that scene himself, you’ve already made an impression."

Erisia pressed a hand to her temple, trying to contain the swirl of adrenaline and disbelief. "It’s just— I’ve never done an official audition like this before. I don’t even know where to start, and Rita isn’t here to help."

"That’s nothing," Soraya said quickly. "Ciara and I can come over—well, actually, she had an emergency, and I’m going with her—but it’s really not that hard. The email said natural lighting, right? Just use your living room. Record during golden hour, keep it simple: one close-up for the monologue and a static shot for the dream improvisation. You can do it on your phone."

"I know, I just—" Erisia hesitated. "This is my first time. He’s probably going to watch this on some huge screen, and I’m here wondering if my background wall looks too beige."

Soraya laughed softly. "You’re overthinking it. He literally said no glamor, no filters, no lights. He wants raw emotion, not a studio setup."

"Raw emotion," Erisia repeated under her breath, looking down at her hands. "Yeah... I can do that."

Then Soraya’s tone softened. "You don’t have to worry, you know. You’re really good at this—and I’m not saying that just because I’m your friend. Just imagine what it feels like when you’re waiting for someone to come back, and they never do. That’s Maren Vale."

Erisia chuckled faintly. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I know. I can do that."

⸻

By mid-morning, her desk had transformed into a makeshift production zone. She’d pinned up a plain gray sheet behind her, angled her phone toward the window, and adjusted the curtains until the light hit just right—pale, diffused, natural.

It wasn’t the kitchen Lennard’s notes had described, but the stillness here felt close enough. She could almost imagine the faint tick of a clock somewhere, the silence resembling that of Maren’s apartment. That was enough to get into character.

She wore a dark gray sweater and loose jeans, her hair pulled into a low, messy bun. The muted palette dulled her usual self—she looked ordinary, almost fragile.

Echo flickered faintly in the corner of her vision, a translucent silver display hovering near her.

[ Talent Analysis Function: Ready. ]

[ Lighting: Optimal (Natural Daylight — 84% Diffusion). ]

[ Expression Tracking: Idle. Begin capture when ready. ]

Erisia squared her shoulders, lifted her chin slightly, and exhaled.

This was it.

When she finally hit record, the air seemed to shift. She didn’t feel like she was in front of a camera anymore. She was Maren Vale.

Her expression went blank and distant as she looked toward the window, eyes soft but heavy.

Then came the call.

The silence stretched before she imagined the ringing of a phone cutting through it. But "Maren"—Erisia—didn’t flinch. She only looked down, her eyes fixed on the dark, lifeless phone screen.

A few seconds passed. Just as she imagined the call ending, she slowly slid her finger across the black screen and lifted it to her ear.

"...Yes?" Her voice was quiet, almost careful.

In her mind, she heard it: Your brother’s disappeared again.

Her grip on the phone tightened; her hand trembled.

"What do you mean you can’t find him?" she asked softly, her voice at odds with the tension winding through her body. "He doesn’t just go. You must’ve checked the shed, the barn—did you check the barn?"

A pause followed.

"No, don’t—don’t call anyone else." Her tone rose, shaky but firm. "I’ll come. I’ll—just... keep looking, okay?"

Another silence passed.

"He always comes back," she whispered, her gaze distant.

A beat.

"He always—"

She stopped mid-sentence, realization flickering through her expression. Her jaw locked; her lips pressed together as if holding something back.

Then she leaned forward, tapped the screen, and ended the recording.

Even Echo seemed to hesitate before flashing its assessment:

[ Microexpression Analysis: 97% Consistency. ]

[ Emotional Resonance Index: 92%. ]

[ Recommended: Submit take. ]

Erisia sat still for a long moment, staring into space as her breath slowly evened out. Then she reached for her phone and let out a quiet, unsteady laugh.

It felt... right. Good, even. Really good.

Then she filmed the additional 30-second improvisation, facing the camera and describing a dream in Maren’s voice — quiet, haunting, and vivid.

She uploaded the file, double-checked the name — Erisia_Wrenford_Hinterland_SelfTape.mov — and hit send before she could second-guess herself.

⸻

That afternoon, Soraya called again.

"Well? You did it?"

"I did," Erisia said, smiling faintly. "It’s out there now. No taking it back."

Soraya let out a proud, giddy exhale. "Then all we do now is wait. Oh, and—maybe manifest Lennard giving you a callback."

Erisia laughed quietly. "Right. Manifesting as we speak."

After her call with Soraya, Erisia decided to check if Lyra’s debut single was performing as well as it had in the original novel.

"The Midnight Garden," that was the name — a dreamy pop ballad that had launched Lyra’s career as a singer in the story. Like Echo said, since the timeline was aligned, it should have dropped exactly at midnight. Which meant by now, the internet would either be exploding with praise... or quietly pretending it didn’t exist.

She pulled up her phone, opened the trending tab, and immediately blinked.

#MidnightGarden 🌙 was sitting at number four nationwide.

Her lips parted slightly as she scrolled. The feed was flooded — fans posting snippets of the MV, slow edits of Lyra in a glowing forest set, music critics already dissecting her tone, her delivery, her ’ethereal restraint.’

"Ethereal restraint," Erisia muttered, raising a brow. "Of course."

She tapped into the top post, a verified entertainment account with the caption:

"Lyra Vance’s debut single exceeds the company and agent’s expectations. Subtle, haunting, and emotionally layered — the girl can act through a melody. ’The Midnight Garden’ is already charting #8 on GlobalStream within 15 hours."

Erisia leaned back, letting out a low whistle. "Damn. She really did it." Though the numbers were slightly higher in the story.

Her voice was described as something never heard before in the modern music scene — raw, unfiltered, untouched by heavy production. In a world where even the most "authentic" pop stars leaned on pitch correction and layered harmonies, Lyra’s tone was marketed as a revelation — "a return to purity," as one pretentious critic had put it. Technology had advanced so much that a perfectly imperfect, human voice now felt like a novelty.

Erisia snorted softly. "Right. Because being slightly off-key is suddenly revolutionary."

It wasn’t that Lyra didn’t have talent — she did. But even in the novel, that justification for her meteoric rise had felt weak. A lot of readers had called it out back then, saying the author had used the "unique voice" excuse as a shortcut to explain her instant success. Erisia had agreed. It was one of those half-baked narrative patches that sounded profound on the surface but fell apart if you looked too closely. *A/N: I’m guilty of that too!*

Still, the effect was undeniable. In the novel, this was one of Lyra’s first major turning points — the moment that solidified her as more than just the "gentle orphan girl" lead. Fans had rallied behind her after this release, and even her still nonexistent rivals couldn’t match her debut.

Erisia set her phone down, her expression thoughtful.

If Lyra’s path was still moving according to the story, then everything tied to her — Asher, his career, his rivals — would also start falling into place.

Wait.

Wasn’t Kealith connected to Asher? The author had used him as narrative fodder to boost Asher’s career arc. That was a pretty damn close connection. Which meant...

Kealith was going to die?!

Erisia froze.

No. Absolutely fucking not. She’d survived — Kealith had to as well. If she’d broken the script, then she could pull him out too.

Just then, her phone buzzed on the table, startling her out of her thoughts. She glanced down and saw the caller ID. Seliora.

Her stomach flipped. She immediately answered. "Hey Seliora!"

A warm voice came through the line. "Hello, Erisia. How have you been?"

"I’ve been doing great — what about you?"

"Wonderfully!" Seliora’s tone was as gentle as ever. "So, I wanted to ask if you’re free tomorrow? Remember I mentioned you could come visit the hospital to see Kealith? Well—"

"Yes!" Erisia blurted out, sitting up straight before catching herself. She cleared her throat and leaned back, trying to sound casual. "I mean, yes. I’m free."

Seliora chuckled softly, clearly amused. "Perfect. He’s been overworking himself more often these days. It’ll be good for him to meet new people. I told him about you, by the way — though I doubt he remembers."

That tugged something in Erisia’s chest. "Then I’ll definitely come so he can remember me."

"Great, you are such a darling. I’ll text you the time and ward details later."

When the call ended, Erisia sat quietly for a moment, staring at her reflection in the dark screen of her phone.

Kealith was still alive. And he was recovering from his surgery.

But if the story’s timeline continued this way, that meant his "accident" would come — the one that had catapulted Asher into fame and sent Kealith six feet under.

Erisia breathed out, it seems she was going to be disrupting Lyra and Asher’s life earlier than she thought.