Days have passed, and with each slow, deliberate tick of the clock, I find myself gradually, almost imperceptibly, adapting to this new world. The unfamiliarity of it is still overwhelming, but less so now. The strange faces, the odd customs, and the imposing walls of this mansion—they've all started to feel like they belong to me, even though I can't shake the feeling that I'm simply a visitor, standing in someone else's shoes.
Looking into the mirror, I exhaled slowly, as though the breath itself weighed a thousand pounds.
This is me now.
Honestly, ever since I saw my new face, I haven't been able to compose myself. I keep finding myself drawn to the mirror, unable to look away.
A sixteen-year-old girl, bearing the soul of a twenty-five-year-old woman. A woman whose very presence exudes an aura of power and beauty.
In this world, beauty is something to be feared. Something dangerous, and powerful.
As I learned today, I don't just carry the weight of my name. I carry the weight of a reputation—a notorious one.
Aerin Angenas Felarina de Melenheim—is no innocent maiden.
She's a villainess, feared by those around her, known for cruelty and arrogance. The very thought of her—of me—makes servants tremble in fear.
That explains why the maids were so terrified when I first woke up and started speaking.
A bitter laugh escapes my lips, bitter because the truth is both humiliating and sobering. What a thing to learn. What a thing to become.
"Ha! Haha! Ha-ha!" The sound of my own laughter feels strange in my mouth. It's a laugh tinged with disbelief, with irony.
"My lady?"
Maya's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. She stands by the door, her hands neatly clasped in front of her. Her shoulders are stiff, her expression carefully neutral, but the way her fingers tighten against the fabric of her uniform gives her away.
I turn towards her. "Maya."
She hesitates, then bows slightly. "Do you require anything, my lady?"
I pause for a moment, considering her before finally speaking.
"Do I have a friend?"
As someone socially awkward, that's the first thing I wanted to know. I had no friends in my original world, so if someone were to visit, I'd at least want to be prepared.
Maya's reaction is almost imperceptible—a flicker in her gaze, a slight shift in posture. But I catch it.
"My lady… that is…" She chooses her words carefully, as if afraid of my response. "You… have acquaintances. But friends… I—"
"I see," I cut her off, my voice flat.
A small, almost amused smile tugs at my lips. It's familiar—this loneliness. In my past life, I had no friends either, but that was by choice. I kept my distance because I felt uneasy around people, because I never knew how to connect, how to keep a conversation going. It was easier to be alone.
But this girl… I think it's different for her.
People aren't avoiding her because she prefers solitude. They're avoiding her because they fear her. Because she's a villainess.
At least in my past life, I was only alone. Not hated.
"What do I usually do?" I followed up.
Maya stiffens, choosing her words carefully. "You… often spend your days browsing boutiques, attending tea parties with young nobles yet to come of age, or entertaining esteemed guests from noble families, my lady."
"Hmm." I nod slowly, then hesitate, carefully choosing my words. I need to tread lightly—lay the groundwork for my ignorance without raising suspicion. A slight furrow of my brow, a softening of my voice—just enough uncertainty to sell the act.
"Maya," I begin, as if the thought has only just dawned on me, "why am I even asking these things?"
Her lips press together, her fingers twitching at her sides. "I… I do not know, my lady."
Perfect.
I let out a slow breath, letting my shoulders drop just a little, as though the weight of something incomprehensible has just settled on me. I lower my gaze, as if struggling to find the words.
"I have no recollection of everything, of everyone...," I say at last, my voice quiet, almost hesitant. "Everything—my entire childhood—it's all gone. The only memory I have is waking up bedridden. Before that…" I shake my head, letting the frustration seep into my expression. "I don't know. I don't know who I was or what happened to me."
Maya's eyes widen, her face paling slightly. "You… do not remember at all, my lady?"
I meet her gaze, letting a touch of helplessness flicker in my expression before I school it back into something neutral.
"Not a single thing."
She swallows hard, her hands trembling before she quickly clasps them together, as if trying to keep herself from falling apart.
Good. She believes me.
"For a while, I had kept my silence, trying to make sense of everything, trying to grasp where I was and what this new reality meant. But now, the weight of the unknown is unbearable." I added to sound more dramatic.
Deep down, I was dying of laughter, barely holding myself together. Every word that left my lips felt like a performance, and the effort to keep a straight face was almost painful. If nothing else, I might just have a future as an actress in this life—a damn good one at that. Lying had never come this naturally before, and suppressing the urge to burst out laughing was becoming its own kind of challenge.
I lift my gaze, my voice firm, commanding.
"I want answers."
Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. Maya hesitated, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her apron, as if weighing whether she should speak at all. I watched her closely, noting the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the way she swallowed as if preparing herself.
A pause. Then, I added, softer this time, "How... did I end up like this?"
Her breath hitched slightly before she finally answered, "Before you fell into a coma… you suffered from a burning fever for three days, my lady."
My breath catches. "Three days?"
She nods, hesitating before continuing. "A fever that not even the royal family's doctors could cure. It was…" She hesitates, choosing her words carefully. "It was… severe. You suffered greatly."
My stomach twists.
"Three days?" I repeat, almost in disbelief.
Maya nods again, but then she falters, her expression slipping for just a second. "The Duke had the royal physicians and mages tend to you, but—" She stops abruptly, as if she's said too much.
I narrow my eyes. "But what?"
She stiffens. "Nothing, my lady. Just that… even with their efforts, no cure was found."
"And the temple?" I ask, my voice steady. "Didn't they send priests?"
In the few days I've been here, I've absorbed as much as I could—reading books, observing, questioning the servants when curiosity got the best of me. It didn't take long to realize that religion isn't just a belief here; it's a powerful faction of its own, one that holds divine magic in the highest regard. That's why the temple's absence in my treatment feels… wrong.
Maya freezes.
Silence.
Too much silence.
My pulse quickens. "Maya?" I urged.
She lowers her gaze. "The Duke… never called for the temple's help, my lady." It sounds hollow, like a rehearsed answer. Like she's omitting something.
I blink. "What?"
"No priests were summoned," she continues, her voice barely above a whisper. "Only the royal physicians and court mages were permitted to see you."
That doesn't make sense.
The temple's priests possess divine magic capable of healing even the gravest injuries and illnesses. If my fever had been so severe—if even the royal doctors couldn't cure it—then why didn't my father seek the temple's aid?
Unless…
Unless he didn't want them to know.
A chill runs down my spine. They let this body suffer for three days?
"No one could approach you, my lady," Maya quickly adds, as if eager to move past the subject. "Not even within ten steps. The heat radiating from your body was enough to burn skin. If not for the highest-grade cooling stone from the water mages, the doctors wouldn't have been able to get near you at all."
I exhale sharply, my mind spinning.
That fever… that unnatural fever.
And then the coma.
A cold realization seeps into my bones, slow and unnerving. The original owner of this body… died.
If what Maya says is true—if even the finest healers and mages couldn't cure her—then doesn't that mean they simply waited? Letting the fever run its course, doing nothing beyond placing a single cooling stone, as if relying on chance?
They let her suffer.
They stood by, hoping it would pass, hoping she'd wake up as if nothing had happened.
That she would endure.
But she never did.
She died. The fever didn't fade—it ended because she died.
Her body was already empty. And that's when I took over.
The coma… that wasn't hers anymore. That was mine.
Probably my way of sinking in, of getting used to this body. Or maybe, for a time, this body was truly empty—left vacant, waiting. And when it finally housed my soul, it took a moment to register, to adjust. That's why it took longer for me to fully wake up.
The weight of the thought presses on me like an invisible force, making it hard to breathe.
What a strange, unbelievable fate.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. Maya turns and opens it slightly, revealing a servant.
"The family physician has arrived, my lady," the servant announces.
I straighten myself.
"Let him in," I say.
The doctor enters, bowing respectfully before beginning his examination. I answer his questions carefully, feigning uncertainty when needed. Of course, I told him I had amnesia—the most cliché excuse for all transmigrated individuals, yet undeniably effective.
But this isn't just an excuse. It's my shield, my alibi. I will make sure everyone knows—I remember nothing. Because if anyone so much as suspects the truth, that I am not who they think I am, I might just find myself accused of something far worse. This world has magic, after all. Who knows what they do to people who wake up in stolen bodies? A public execution? Burning at the stake? No, thank you.
Good thing fate handed me a convenient cover story. The original owner of this body had already suffered a strange, unexplainable fever—one so severe that no one could even approach her. That alone makes my sudden memory loss believable. And if they ever ask if my amnesia is improving?
Nope. It won't. Not now. Not ever.
Unlike the stories I've read or the ones I've written, there's nothing left of this body's original owner. No lingering emotions, no flickering memories, not even the faintest whisper of a past life. Just a blank slate, and some bad habits retained by muscle memory. A somewhat, empty vessel.
The only silver lining? I can read, write, and understand their language. At least I don't have to start from absolute zero.
When the physician concludes his examination, he settles into the chair beside my bed, meticulously jotting down notes in his journal. With practiced efficiency, he gathers the tools he used, placing them back into his briefcase. Then, he rises to his full height, straightening his posture as he prepares to deliver his report.
"You are in good health, my lady," he informs me. "You simply need ample rest to regain your strength after being bedridden for months."
With that, he straightens and adds, "I will now report to the Duke. Excuse me, my lady."
He bowed before quietly leaving the room.
I watch him go, my mind still tangled in everything I've learned.
The duke will soon know.
And when he does, I wonder—how will he react to this new daughter?