After the Ending, I Want to Die Too Novel

Bound within a book's narrative, I existed as an unwilling observer through countless centuries. The novel's heroes perished long ago, yet I endured—transformed into something monstrous, still alive. Time flowed on while I remained frozen in place. Until I found it: a means to shatter these chains and finally choose my own death.

Following this revelation, I infiltrated the imperial palace as a servant. That single choice changed everything.

His golden eyes burned like a campfire's living flame—fierce, searching, demanding. "Should I verify?" he asked, closing the distance. "Or is it still small?" His question smoldered in the heated space between us.

The answer was obvious to the naked eye. Yet he insisted on checking for himself.

"Use my name," I whispered. "Hestia."

That earnest, almost pitiful gaze flooded my entire vision—capturing me completely. Those sincere eyes held me utterly captive.

"Quickly," he commanded.

His smile bloomed only after I obeyed, his eyes crinkling with satisfaction. "We spent the night together," he murmured, his voice low and tender like candlelight dancing in darkness. The words brushed against my ears with intimate warmth.

The vulnerable boy I'd rescued—small and helpless—no longer existed. Before me stood a man utterly transformed: powerful, magnetic, commanding in every way.