Reality's Escape: a collection of short stories

The Epilogue

Reedsy prompt: Write a story that includes characters who are aware that they are a work of fiction.
This one was a lot of fun! I feel like I rushed the last half because I procrastinated again, but I still love the way it turned out. Tell me what you think in the comments :)

"It worked."

Rita panted, lying flat on her back. The smells coming through her nose were unfamiliar... and yet she knew exactly what they were.

"It worked."

She opened her eyes. The sky above was a placid blue. There were a few clouds, but they looked too far away to do any good. She looked around. Brown stone walls hemmed her in on three sides. The fourth side opened up into a street. She got up. Her muscles were stiff, but she shook them out and continued.

The street was empty. There were a few food carts, picked clean by the birds and wild dogs. A nearby saloon boasted the title "The Thirsty Pirate" in sun bleached paint. The door was swinging on its hinges in the breeze, so she went in.

"Hello?"

Her voice echoed off the plank walls. It was dark and cool. The windows were covered in grime. Once her eyes adjusted, she could make out the wooden tables and chairs, crookedly arranged, and the counter. Behind it were rows of dark bottles clustered on sagging shelves. There should have been an attendant, short and stocky, his left eye covered with a patch as dirty as his apron, but he was nowhere to be seen. She stepped further in.

"Is anyone here?"

There was no answer. Rita glanced around before heading around the counter to the rows of bottles. A smirk crossed her face as she took one down, then selected the cleanest tumbler she could find. She poured the dark liquid, made an imaginary toast, and raised it up into the air.

She took a swing any thirsty pirate would have been proud of and slammed the tumbler back down onto the table—and spit the whole mouthful out. It splattered over the already dirty surface as she continued to cough. It wasn't as glory-empowering as books made it seem. It was just gross.

Books. Right. Rita left the whiskey bottle open on the table and walked back out side. It was brighter here. She turned north and walked past three ramshackle houses. The fourth had purple smoke issuing from its chimney. So this was somewhere after the third chapter.

"Halt, Witch!"

The cry came from down the road. Rita looked up to see a young man marching down the road. He was dressed in a faded grey tunic, leggings, and knee-high boots. There was a sword strapped to his back and a long knife to his side. He came to a stop in front of her. And boy, was he handsome. Blond hair pulled back into a knot, firm mouth, blue eyes, arched brows...

"You're not the witch."

Rita's tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. A wry voice broke her trance.

"Armand, she's not even in the book."

Her head swung to the side. Beside Armand stood a woman, dressed nearly identically: instead of the sword, through, she carried a bow and quiver of arrows. Something twisted in Rita's stomach when she seen the confident smirk on her face.

"What is she, then?" he asked, cocking his head.

"Probably another reader."

"She's not dressed like a reader."

"Obviously she has a better imagination." The woman rolled her eyes. "Let's go."

"Will she let us pass?"