The White Space

Amelia woke to silence.

Not the kind of silence you got in a library, with the faint hum of lights or the shuffle of pages. This was heavy—thick enough to press against her ears, like someone had taken the very concept of sound and thrown it in the trash.

Her eyes fluttered open.

White.

Not walls. Not fog. Just… white. It stretched endlessly in every direction. There was no horizon, no shadows, no source for the soft light that allowed her to see herself standing there. Her boots rested on something solid, but she couldn’t see the ground—it was the same endless white as everything else.

Her throat felt dry. “...Hello?”

The word seemed to vanish before it even left her lips, swallowed whole by the emptiness.

She tried again, louder this time. “Hey! Anyone here?”

Nothing. Not even an echo.

A shiver crawled up her spine.

Great. Either I’m dead, or I’ve been kidnapped by the IKEA afterlife department.

She cupped her hands around her mouth. “HELLO?!”

Still nothing.

She was about to start cursing when the “floor” directly in front of her cracked. A thin green stem pushed through the white, its color almost shocking against the sterile backdrop.

Amelia took a step back. “...Okay. This is fine. Random plant in the middle of nothing. Seen weirder.”

The stem grew rapidly, leaves unfurling in slow, deliberate movements. Its height climbed steadily until it reached her chest, then stopped.

The top twisted, splitting into multiple limbs that intertwined and thickened, forming a rostrum-like stand made of smooth, dark branches.

Before she could process it, a blinding light flared above the wooden structure.

“Shit—!” Amelia threw up an arm to shield her eyes.

When the light faded, a book sat neatly on the rostrum.

Thick. Black leather binding. No dust. Her name was etched in sharp silver letters on the cover:

Amelia Green

She frowned. “Great. A creepy stalker book. That’s exactly what I needed today.”

She curiously stepped forward and opened the book. At the first page, she saw her name again. And underneath were neat lines of text: 

Age: 28
Race: Human
Job: None

She scowled. “Wow. Rude. Way to call me out, mysterious magic book.”

The first page looked like some sort of profile sheet from an RPG—her details written in the same sharp script. A black quill and a plain white eraser rested in a small groove beside the stand, as if inviting her to edit.

“...No way,” she muttered, already reaching for the eraser.

A quick rub across the “28” made it vanish instantly. She grinned and grabbed the quill, scrawling “18” in its place.

It stayed.

“Oh hell yes. Finally, I get a do-over.”

She tapped the end of the quill against her chin. “Let’s see… race.”

The word dissolved from the page, replaced by floating options in the air before her:

Human
Elf
Orc
Goblin
Dragon
Angel
Demon

…and more, each flickering like faint holograms.

She made a face. “Goblin? Hell no. Elf’s tempting. Dragon’s cool, but the maintenance on those scales…” She tilted her head, grinning. “Demon. Has style. Has drama. I like it.”

The moment she selected “Demon,” new choices appeared in front of her: 

Horns
Wings 
Tail 
Claws 

Each had small toggles beside them.

“Big ebony horns and black bat wings. Yes, please.” She ticked both without hesitation. “Tail? Nah. Claws? Hmm, could be. They do look badass.”

She flicked back to the book. Seeing the next options, her grin widened.

"Yes, lets get rid of from these boring colors and put something more lively."

Hair Color: Blue.
Eye Color: Blue.

When she reached Skills/Abilities, the section was blank. She grinned like a kid with an open cheat menu.

“Alright. Let’s go nuts.”

She started scribbling:

Shadowflame Arc — a burst of dark fire that consumes everything in its path.

Umbral Step — short-range teleport through shadows.

Grasp of the Abyss — conjures spectral hands to bind and drag foes.

She read each aloud as she wrote it, her voice echoing strangely in the nothingness. The air seemed to ripple faintly when she spoke certain words.

“Ohhh, let’s add more,” she muttered, already leaning over the page.

Nightpiercer — launches a spear of condensed darkness.

Veil of Silence — create a soundless zone to hide or trap enemies.

Eclipse Surge — temporarily boosts all abilities during total darkness.

She stared at the list, chewing her lip. “Too edgy? Nah. Perfect level of edgy.”

Then she started crossing things out, rewriting them for “cooler” names. Shadowflame Arc became Infernal Eclipse. Nightpiercer got upgraded to Lance of Midnight.

By the time she was done, her profile read like the ultimate dark fantasy build she’d always dreamed of.

Amelia stepped back, quill in hand, admiring her work. “God, I am amazing.”

She stopped and tapped her chin, thinking if there were any other things she could add. Then her eyes drifted to the small, still-empty section labeled Passives.

“Ohhh… how could I forget the real power creep?”

She started scribbling again:

Instant Regeneration — rapidly heals all wounds, no matter how severe.

Endless Mana Flow — constant mana regeneration, unaffected by fatigue.

Soul Devourer — upon killing an enemy, consume their soul to permanently gain a fraction of their abilities or knowledge.

She let out a low whistle. “Yeah. That’s disgustingly broken. Love it.”

As soon as she finished, the page shimmered and a new header appeared in bold black letters:

Weapon Selection

Dozens of weapon icons floated in the air before her—swords, spears, bows, staves, even bizarre things like whips made of lightning.

Amelia’s gaze snagged immediately on one option. A massive scythe, its blade blacker than midnight yet gleaming with a razor sheen, as though moonlight itself was trapped along the curve. Its shaft was wrapped in deep crimson leather, runes crawling lazily along the metal, glowing faintly like embers in the dark. The air around it seemed… heavier, as if it bent reality just by existing.

“Oh, yes. Absolutely yes.” She tapped it without hesitation.

The scythe spun in the air, the runes flaring once before collapsing into a streak of shadow that sank into the page with a faint hiss. The weapon’s name appeared beneath her profile:

??? – Scythe of the Fallen Moon

No abilities. No description. Just that name, sitting there like a secret waiting to be pried open.

Amelia tilted her head. “Ominous. I like it.”

Her profile now looked like something ripped straight out of a max-level, endgame build. Amelia grinned. “Perfect. Demon queen, here I come.”

Then her eyes moved towards where her name was.

"I can't be a demon named Amelia now, can I?"

After spending some time and thinking about what name she should come up with, her eyes lit up with the idea. She quickly erased her name and filled it with something different. Something she used while playing all those fantasy games.

Morgana Lilaris

Satisfied with her masterpiece, she placed the quill back into its groove.

The moment it touched the stand, the book slammed shut with a sharp thwack and began to glow, silver etching pulsing like a heartbeat.

The white space trembled—small vibrations at first, then ripples racing outward like the surface of disturbed water.

The rostrum began to sink, the branches unraveling into the floor. The endless white around her folded in on itself, twisting like liquid.

Her stomach lurched.

“What the—hey, wait, no one said anything about sudden death vortexes—”

The ground dropped out from under her. Light flared—hotter, harsher—filling her vision.

Her knees buckled. The last thing she saw before the darkness claimed her was the faint, silver glimmer of her name on the closing book.

"Fucking hell... not again..."