Isaac Newton adjusted his spectacles and frowned at the peculiar book resting on his desk. He was certain it hadn't been there earlier. The cover, a deep crimson adorned with intricate gold patterns, bore the title: "Chronicles of Veloria."

He ran a hand over the book, brushing his hand against smooth cold leather beneath his fingers. No author's name. No publisher's mark. No explanation for its presence. Newton's curiosity, always a ravenous thing, stirred.

"Where did you come from?" he murmured.

The moment he opened the book, a white light poured from its pages, blinding him. A rushing sound filled the air, like a storm brewing within the confines of his study. He staggered back, grabbing the edge of his desk for balance, but the light only intensified.

"What-!?" he shouted, the words lost in the roar. Panic filled him as the floor seemed to drop out from under him. His surroundings dissolved into white.

---

When the world finally stilled, he found himself sprawled on cold marble. Newton blinked up at a vaulted ceiling painted with swirling constellations and golden filigree. The air smelled of roses and burning incense.

"What in the name of-" He cut himself off as he sat up, his voice strange to his ears: higher, softer, decidedly... feminine.

Newton froze. His hands-delicate, pale, and adorned with rings-hovered in front of him. He touched his face, finding smooth skin and the unmistakable shape of earrings brushing against his neck.

He scrambled to his feet and caught sight of his reflection in a tall gilded mirror. Staring back at him was a striking young woman with auburn hair cascading in waves over her shoulders, sharp green eyes, and a flawless complexion. Her gown was a deep emerald, trimmed with silver lace, clinging to a body that was most assuredly not his own.

Newton stumbled back, nearly tripping on the hem of the dress.

"This... this cannot be!" he gasped, his voice trembling.

"It's impossible!", he said as his heart pounded as he pressed his hands against his chest, confirming the reality he could scarcely comprehend.

He looked around, the grandeur of the room doing nothing to soothe his panic. It was a chamber fit for nobles, filled with luxurious furniture and ornate decorations. His mind raced to find an explanation.

["A dream? No, too vivid. A hallucination? But the sensations are real. The book... this must be connected to that book!"]

A sharp knock at the door interrupted his spiraling thoughts.

"My Lady, are you all right?" came a muffled voice from the other side. "The council is waiting for you."

Newton stared at the door, his breath quickening.

["Lady? Council? This must be some kind of mistake."]

He glanced at his reflection again, the pieces beginning to slot together. The body he now inhabited wasn't just any woman-it was Lady Isadora Valemont, the villainess of "Chronicles of Veloria."

The memories of this character surged into his mind like a tide, offering glimpses of Isadora's sharp wit, her biting words, her calculated feuds. And, of course, her tragic demise at the hands of the hero.

"No," he whispered, gripping the edge of a nearby table for support.

["This cannot be. Am I... trapped in some kind of story? This is absurd. Ridiculous!"]

"My Lady?" The voice at the door grew more insistent.

Newton straightened, panic warring with his rational mind. He was Isaac Newton, one of the greatest scientific minds in history. Surely, he could find a way out of this bizarre predicament.

["First, I must gather information. Understand the rules of this world. Then, I shall calculate my escape."]

"Enter," he said, trying to steady his voice. It came out smooth and commanding, a testament to the body he now inhabited.

The door opened to reveal a maid, who curtsied deeply. "The council awaits your presence, My Lady. They wish to discuss your... feud with Lady Alora."

Newton felt a headache coming on as the name triggered more of Isadora's memories.

["A feud? Perfect. Just what I needed."]

Suppressing a groan, he adjusted his gown awkwardly, his movements far from graceful.

["This will be a problem."]

With as much poise as he could muster, he followed the maid toward his new life-and, hopefully, the answers he needed to return to his old one.

---

The hallways were filled with gilded arches and polished marble, each corner adorned with intricate tapestries depicting heroic battles and divine blessings. Newton followed the maid in silence, his mind racing.

["This is absurd. How can a book transport me to another world? Fiction is nothing more than the imagination of man-yet here I stand, defying reason."]

He glanced down at the delicate hands folded before him, the rings catching the light.

["And trapped in this body, no less."]

His steps faltered as they approached a set of double doors, towering and carved with an elaborate motif of roses and thorns. The maid turned to him, her face pale and anxious.

"The council is in a particularly... testy mood, My Lady," she said hesitantly. "But I am sure you will handle them as you always do."

Newton frowned.

["As I always do? Meaning I am expected to be combative. Excellent. More variables to account for."]

He nodded curtly, the motion surprisingly confident. "Very well. I shall manage."

The maid pushed the doors open, and Newton stepped inside.

The Council Chamber

The room was vast and circular, dominated by a long mahogany table. Seated around it were a collection of nobles, their finery as sharp as their expressions. At the head of the table sat Lord Carrisford, an older man with a salt-and-pepper beard and piercing blue eyes that narrowed at Newton's arrival.

"Lady Isadora," he said, his tone clipped. "You're late."

Newton raised an eyebrow.

["Late? How predictable. A petty tactic to assert dominance."]

He clasped his hands in front of him and offered a slow, deliberate smile.

"My apologies, my lord. I was... reflecting on the weighty matters that bring us here today."

The room fell silent for a moment, the council members exchanging wary glances.

["It seems they expected me to storm in, fuming and hostile. Fascinating."]

"Weighty matters indeed," Lord Carrisford said, leaning forward. "Particularly your ongoing quarrel with Lady Alora. Her faction grows restless, claiming you have overstepped your bounds."

Newton's mind worked quickly, piecing together fragments of Isadora's memories. Lady Alora was a rival noblewoman, a key player in the political theater of Veloria. Their feud, fueled by envy and ambition, had escalated into a bitter struggle that threatened to destabilize the court.

["The narrative demands conflict between Isadora and Alora,"]

Newton realized.

["But conflict leads to my demise. I must redirect this course."]

"Overstepped my bounds?" Newton repeated, his tone measured.

He stepped closer to the table, letting his emerald eyes sweep over the assembled nobles. "Pray, enlighten me. What specific grievances does Lady Alora claim?"

A younger nobleman, seated near the middle, hesitated before speaking.

"She... she accuses you of sabotaging her trade agreements with the southern provinces."

Newton resisted the urge to scoff.

["How tedious. Mere political maneuvering dressed as scandal."]

He nodded thoughtfully. "A grave accusation. However, the southern provinces have long been plagued by unstable leadership.

Perhaps her agreements failed due to their own shortcomings, rather than any interference on my part."

Murmurs rippled through the room. Some council members nodded in agreement, while others exchanged doubtful looks.

"And yet," Newton continued, his voice firm,

"if Lady Alora insists upon dragging my name into this matter, I propose a more productive solution. Why not work together to stabilize the southern provinces? Surely, unity serves us better than discord."

The council stared at him, clearly taken aback.

["It seems diplomacy was not Isadora's usual tactic. How disappointing that my predecessor relied so heavily on venom."]

Lord Carrisford stroked his beard, his expression contemplative.

"An... unexpected suggestion, Lady Isadora. I will admit, such cooperation could benefit the kingdom as a whole. But convincing Lady Alora will not be easy."

Newton inclined his head.

"Then I shall take it upon myself to speak with her directly. Let us settle this matter as peers, not adversaries."

Gasps echoed around the room. A portly noblewoman near the end of the table finally spoke up.

"You... you wish to meet with Lady Alora? Alone? After everything that's happened?"

Newton fixed her with a steady gaze.

"Do you doubt my ability to navigate a simple conversation, Lady Branthwell?"

The woman shrank back, muttering under her breath. Newton suppressed a smirk.

["These people are easily unsettled. I must use that to my advantage."]

"Very well,"

Lord Carrisford said at last.

"If you believe you can resolve this peacefully, you have the council's blessing. But tread carefully, Lady Isadora. One misstep, and this feud could spiral further out of control."

Newton nodded, already calculating his next move.

["A misstep would indeed be dangerous. Fortunately, I have no intention of allowing this story to follow its prescribed path. If the laws of this world resemble the physical laws of my own, then every action must have an equal and opposite reaction. I will introduce new variables-ones the author cannot anticipate."]

As the council dismissed, Newton felt the weight of their stares as he left the chamber. His first move was clear: rewrite the narrative, one chapter at a time.

["This is no longer the story of Lady Isadora Valemont. It is the story of Isaac Newton, and I will see it through to the end."]