"Ah! I've found a clue!" I said, looking at the fingerprint through my magnifying glass. Yes, it is I, the famous detective you know so well. But how could you know me so well when we've never met? That is, never met in real life? An interesting question, and perhaps a sign of things to come? Only a great detective would know, and that's what I am. Not all detectives know that mysteries can actually conceal greater mysteries, as I learned one fateful day, when everything changed. You see, I was investigating the murder of a certain victim. Just an ordinary day in my life, if you can even call it a life at all, which is not something I would have said before this mystery, but soon all will be revealed. I was going through the list of suspects and trying to piece together the clues. But it was all too perfect. Too contrived. I had an odd thought... but no. That's absurd. But could it be? Could real life, to which I thought I belonged, truly operate in such a matter? As if it were penned for me, plotted by the hand of a master? As if I were in.... a book? The thought struck me like lightning. And further deduction proved it was true. I was a character in a book!