They sat very still.
“We burn it,” I said. “All of it.” xuyen thanh nam the phao hoi cua nhan vat phan dien ebook
Thousands of comments. Millions of readers. Cheering when I fell. Crying when I smiled. Drawing fan art of my death scene. Writing fix-it fics where I lived—but only as a broken, redeemed shadow of the hero. They sat very still
On the screen, before it went black, one final line appeared—not from the author, not from the system. Millions of readers
In the original novel, my name was – the cold, beautiful villain. The male god everyone loved to hate. I had sharp cheekbones, a silver tongue, and a destiny carved in tragedy. I was written to lose. To kneel. To die in chapter 287 so the hero could cry prettily over my body for exactly three paragraphs before moving on.
We weren't just characters. We were prisoners . The novel was a cage. The readers were gods who watched us bleed for entertainment. And every time someone closed the ebook, our world froze until they opened it again.