I jolted awake, my breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. "It was just a nightmare," I muttered, feeling my hands tremble as I patted my body, my mind desperately trying to reassure itself. "I wasn't really hit by an ice cream truck… that was just a very vivid dream." My fingers traced over my skin, my limbs, searching for any injury, any sign that it had been real. But as my eyes darted around the room, a different panic set in. This was definitely not my bedroom.
I was in a lavish suite that seemed to belong in a palace. The walls were covered in deep blue wallpaper, embroidered with intricate gold patterns that shimmered under the light of a massive crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Rich drapes hung on the windows, their fabric so thick and luxurious that I could practically feel their weight just by looking at them.
The bed I was in was enormous, easily twice the size of any bed I had ever owned, with sheets that felt softer than clouds and pillows stacked like a mountain. A faint scent of roses and something floral lingered in the air, mixed with the smell of freshly polished wood and warm vanilla. Everything about this place screamed wealth and luxury, but I had no idea how I'd ended up here.
"Oh shit," I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath. "What is happening? Where am I? Am I still dreaming?" I pinched my arm hard, the sharp pain reassuringly real but providing no comfort. It did nothing to dispel the nagging sensation that something was deeply, fundamentally wrong.
My heart pounded in my chest like a drum. My brain raced through a hundred explanations, each more ridiculous than the last maybe this was some kind of elaborate prank, something my students had cooked up because I was always late to class. They were crafty, I knew that, and they were always looking for a way to surprise me.
But before my imagination could run any wilder, a translucent screen suddenly appeared in front of me, hovering mid-air like something out of a sci-fi movie.
"[Greetings, Amara Lyselle. You have been successfully reincarnated.]"
"What? No! No, no, no!" I yelled, my voice shrill with panic. I tried to wave the screen away, my hands slicing through the air, but it stayed stubbornly in place. "This has to be some kind of joke! Leave me alone!" My heart hammered louder, and I could feel my palms growing clammy. I hadn't taken any drugs… had I? What could make me hallucinate this badly?
"[Do not panic, dear host,]" the voice continued, disturbingly cheerful. "[I am your System, here to assist you in your new life.]"
I blinked, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. "No, no, absolutely not!" I shouted back, as if arguing with a computer program would somehow fix everything. "I didn't want to die! I want my old life back! Choose someone else and take me home!"
The voice paused for a moment before replying, "[That is impossible. It is too late for that. And, just for your information, you are indeed dead in your original world. Here is the proof.]"
My blood ran cold. Another screen blinked to life beside the first, displaying a scene that made my stomach drop. It was a funeral. I could see a crowd of people standing around a freshly dug grave, and there, engraved on the tombstone, was my name: Amara Lyselle.
I felt my knees buckle as I watched, helpless. My parents were there, front and center, and my heart ached seeing them. My mother, Elena Lyselle, was a small woman with delicate features, her bright green eyes now puffy and red from crying. Her long, dark hair was tied back in a tight bun, but strands had come loose, sticking to her tear-streaked cheeks.
My father, Marcus Lyselle, stood beside her, his tall, broad frame almost hunched over with grief. His once-strong hands, now trembling, clutched a worn handkerchief as he dabbed at his eyes, his usually stern face crumpled with pain.
Someone else in the crowd spoke, a voice tinged with sadness but also a hint of humor: "We loved her, even if she was always late… She probably would have ended up marrying chocolate."
A woman, an aunt or perhaps an old family friend, chimed in, "And really, how unlucky can someone be to get hit by an ice cream truck of all things?" The crowd murmured in agreement, some laughing through their tears.
I felt a mix of horror and embarrassment flush through me. I died in such a ridiculous way, and now everyone I loved was talking about it like it was some absurd joke. Before I could even begin to process what I was feeling, the video ended, leaving me staring blankly at the screen.
"[As you can see, you are truly deceased,]" the voice from the System continued, its tone still maddeningly upbeat, almost as if it found the whole situation amusing.
I clenched my fists, trying to suppress the panic rising in my chest. "This… this isn't happening," I whispered to myself. "This can't be real." But deep down, a part of me knew it was, as much as I hated to admit it.
The idea of reincarnation was insane, yet here I was, living proof or rather, proof that I wasn't living anymore. But I wasn't going to let some disembodied voice dictate my fate. I jumped out of the bed, determined to find a way out of this surreal nightmare.
I flung open the door and stepped into a hallway so grand it made the room I'd woken up in look modest. The walls were lined with paintings that looked like they belonged in a museum, depicting scenes of epic battles, serene landscapes, and portraits of people who exuded power and elegance.
A red carpet ran down the length of the corridor, and the ceiling was so high above me it seemed almost dizzying. Servants were bustling about, all wearing immaculate uniforms, their faces a mixture of concentration and duty.
I had barely stepped outside when a young woman hurried toward me, her face etched with concern. She had soft features, wide brown eyes, and a petite frame. "Madame Lyselle, what are you doing out of bed?" she asked urgently. "You must return; you are still unwell."
I blinked at her, confusion mixing with frustration. "Cut the act!" I snapped, my voice louder than I intended. "I don't know what game you're playing, but it's not funny!"
The young woman's eyes widened in genuine alarm, and she quickly called out to the others. Within moments, more servants appeared, as if they'd been waiting just around the corner. One of them, a tall woman with a sharp, no-nonsense look about her, stepped forward and immediately placed a hand on my forehead as if checking for a fever.
I jerked back, pushing her hand away.
"Madame Lyselle," she said in a calm but authoritative voice, "we understand that Lord Eirik rejected your proposal, and that you stayed out in the rain all night. But you must rest. Please, come back to your room."
She took my hand in hers and began to guide me back inside. I was too stunned to resist her grip was firm, and before I knew it, I was back in the bed I'd just left. I watched, bewildered, as she left, murmuring something about fetching breakfast.
I lay there, the soft sheets feeling like they were swallowing me whole, my mind racing. Another screen flickered to life before me.
"[So, you thought I was joking, didn't you?]" the System chimed, a hint of amusement in its tone. "[I told you this isn't a prank. Now, take a look at your new appearance.]"
A mirror materialized in my hands. With trembling fingers, I slowly lifted it up to face me.
The reflection staring back was not mine. Or at least, not entirely.