The incessant New York rain beat a steady rhythm against the antique shop's awning, blurring the vibrant city lights into streaks of neon. Serena, ever drawn to the allure of forgotten treasures, paused. Amidst the hurried exodus of distressed relics, a painting called to her.

It was a landscape, breathtaking in its impossible beauty: a mountain range ablaze with autumn colors, and nestled atop a distant hill, a silver castle that shimmered with an otherworldly light. It spoke to a part of her soul she rarely acknowledged, a longing for something magical, something beyond the mundane.

She bought it, rescuing it from the downpour, bringing it home to her cozy Manhattan apartment. That night, her dreams transformed. First, fantastical creatures danced through her sleep, then the silver castle beckoned. On the third night, she found herself inside its arched halls, and then, inexplicably, in a bedchamber, face-to-face with a crowned, powerful man. A King. She awoke, heart pounding, convinced it was just a vivid dream.

The fourth night brought an ethereal voice, urging her to touch the painting. Like a puppet on strings, she obeyed. The next sensation was the jarring reality of cold sheets and a heavy weight. She opened her eyes to find herself in that very castle, in that very bedchamber, with the King on top of her, his gaze as surprised and confused as her own. Her reality had shattered.