Side Character's Curse

7|| The Offer

My back was pressed against a hard floor. Cold seeped through the flimsy material of my gown and I shivered, pushing myself upright.

Stretched out before me was an endless expanse of white. My heart hammered in my chest. I looked up and shielded my eyes from the bright light.

"Hey, Dreamer?" I called out, my echo was the only sound I could hear. "Is this your doing?"

Nothing.

I stepped forward. A chill shot down my spine and I shivered, wishing I had brought some sort of shawl with me.

A hand clamped down on my arm.

Blind panic seized me. I whirled around and delivered a punch. My fist made contact and cartilage gave way to a hot, bloody mess.

"Ow!" Roman doubled over, clutching his face. Rivulets of red streamed through his fingers and splattered on his crisp, white shirt.

I didn't relax, my feet slid into a defence position and I prepared myself to shift if needed. "Why did you sneak up on me?"

He took a breath through his mouth and glared at me. "I was trying to catch your attention."

Rowan straightened and squeezed his eyes shut, face pinched into tight concentration. Cupping his hands over his nose, he grunted and mumbled something under his breath. When he pulled away, his face was completely cleaned of blood— not even his nose was bent out of shape. In fact, if it wasn't for the splatters of blood on his collar, I would have wondered if it had been broken at all.

"How did you do that?" I demanded, trying to hide my rising curiosity.

Rowan wriggled his fingers with a smug grin. "Perks of being a Dreamer. Now, Miss Mango, shall we?"

I arched a brow and crossed my arms, apprehension swirled in the pit of my stomach; I couldn't shake the pinpricks of unease or my instincts screaming at me to run away. "Miss Mango?"

"Ah." His brows furrowed as he tilted his head. "You still like mangoes, don't you?"

I stepped back, suddenly realising that I was very much alone with this man. "Who are you?" My gaze flicked over every inch of the space, but I couldn't find a single object to defend myself with.

"I told you already," he said in exasperation. "My name is Rowan, and I am a Dreamer. Or are you, perhaps, suffering from amnesia?"

I swallowed back the flames threatening to climb up my throat. "What even is a Dreamer, exactly?"

His jaw dropped. "You don't— you don't know what a Dreamer is? Has your system told you nothing?"

"Well, I know that you guys can see through the Cloak of Secrets." I crossed my arms, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity while being gawked at like I was a fish out of water. "As demonstrated when you so rudely kidnapped me earlier."

Rowan let out a sharp breath, his shoulders dropped and a disbelieving chuckled pushed past his lips. "Right, well, that actually throws a lot of my plans out of the window. Alright, here's a crash course."

He waved his right hand as if he was shooing away a fly; a plush, red armchair appeared behind me, and I was pushed back into it by an invisible force. I gasped, sinking so deep into the cushions that I was half-worried I would be swallowed up by the velvet.

"Right." Rowan pushed up a pair of silver glasses— where did he get those from?— up the bridge of his nose. "There are two types of non-characters within any story: the Story Traveller, and the Dreamer.