🌟 COMEDIC CONTINUATION (Right after she touches the spinning wheel and feels the room spin…) Modern retake on Sleeping beauty Part 2

🌟 COMEDIC CONTINUATION

(Right after she touches the spinning wheel and feels the room spin…)

I blinked. Once. Twice.
The ceiling fan above me wobbled like it was considering early retirement.
My eyelids suddenly weighed more than all my emotional baggage combined.

“Oh no,” I mumbled.
“Is this it?
Is this… the nap of destiny?”

I attempted to sit up but gravity whispered, “No sweetie, stay humble.”

The spinning wheel beside me glowed faintly—
which was rude because it hadn’t glowed at all when I bought it,
and nowhere in the reviews did anyone mention
“Possible magical side effects: spontaneous fainting.”

My phone buzzed.
A notification:
Your alarm: ‘Be productive today!!!’ goes off in 2 minutes.

The universe clearly said: Bet.

And before I could swipe it away,
before I could complain about my neighbor throwing what sounded like bowling balls at his floor again—
my body decided to peace out.

Everything faded to soft pink sparkles,
like the world was edited by a 2012 Instagram filter.

Just before my eyes closed, I sighed dramatically:

“If a prince shows up,
tell him I want fries too.”

And then—
out cold.
Lights out.
Goodnight to me.

---

🌙 TWIST ENDING: SHE WAKES UP IN A TOTALLY UNEXPECTED WORLD

When my eyes finally fluttered open,
I expected birds singing,
or a prince leaning over me with shampoo-commercial hair.

Instead…

“YOU’RE LATE FOR YOUR MEETING!”
shouted a disembodied robotic voice.

I shot up.

I was not in my apartment.
I was not in a castle.
I was… floating?

I looked down.
Cloud floor.
Pastel colors.
Everything glowing softly.

“Welcome to the Institute of Dream Maintenance,” said a small floating orb with glasses.
“You fell asleep unsupervised during a Class 3 Emotional Burnout. Very messy.”

“Uh… what?”
I croaked.

The orb pushed up its glasses without having a nose.

“You humans have no idea how many daydreams we have to file. Look at this mess!”
It showed me a clipboard full of my fantasies:
— Prince with latte
— Horse that tap-dances
— Neighbor falling into a portal labeled ‘Shhh Land’

“What is happening?” I whispered.

“You,” the orb announced, “have been drafted as a junior dream technician until your brain resets properly.”

“Wait—like… I work here now?”

A glowing door opened to reveal a chaotic office filled with floating folders, snoring clouds, and a unicorn on break eating instant noodles.

“Don’t be dramatic,” the orb said.
“It’s only temporary. Typical duration: one soul-week.
Unless you mess something up.
Which given your daydream-to-reality ratio…
seems highly likely.”

I groaned.
Even in another dimension, I was underqualified.

“Fine,” I muttered, standing up. “But where’s the prince?”

“Oh he’s real,” the orb said casually, flipping a page.
“But he accidentally got assigned to the Nightmare Department.
They’re trying to teach him how to meditate.”

I gasped.
“My prince… meditating?
NO. That man was built for drama and horseback entrances.”

“Then you’d better finish your shift quickly,” the orb said.
“Before he learns inner peace.”

That was enough motivation for me.

I straightened my imaginary cape.
“Alright.
Let’s fix my brain’s filing cabinet.”

And as I walked into the strange dream-bureau chaos,
I whispered to myself:

“Next time…
I’m just buying noise-canceling headphones.”