Sophia—or whoever she was now—stared at the massive gilded mirror, her reflection nearly unrecognizable. She had spent the last several minutes pacing the grand bedroom, trying to make sense of where she was and why she was here.
Is this me? she thought, her heart racing. No, it couldn't be. This was wrong—everything about it was wrong.
She stepped closer to the mirror, her fingers trembling as they reached up to touch her face. The skin was smooth, soft, and unfamiliar under her fingertips, and her dark hair framed her face in waves that looked too perfect to be real. Her body felt weak, much weaker than it had ever been, and there was a constant ache in her bones.
"Shit. What the hell is wrong with this body?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
The woman in the reflection stared back, equally confused. Sophia's fingers traced the contours of her new face, her disbelief deepening with each passing second. It didn't feel like a dream. It felt too vivid, too real. The air was cool against her skin, the floor solid beneath her feet, and the ache in her body was a constant reminder that she wasn't imagining this.
She turned away from the mirror, her gaze sweeping the fancy room for a hundredth time. The sheer opulence of it all was overwhelming—ornate furniture, intricate tapestries, and a bed so large it could swallow her whole. It was like stepping into another world. No, it was another world. She wasn't in her bedroom in her hometown. She wasn't even sure she was on Earth anymore.
Sophia collapsed onto the edge of the massive bed, her body sinking into the plush mattress. She buried her face in her hands, trying to push back the rising panic. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, but she fought them, refusing to let them fall. Crying wouldn't help her now.
A soft knock at the door made her jump. She quickly straightened up, wincing at the unfamiliar ache in her body. Before she could fully compose herself, the heavy wooden door creaked open.
A young maid stepped in, her face a mask of calm professionalism, though her gaze held a certain warmth. "Good morning, My Lady. Are you ready for your journey back to the capital?" Her voice was soft, sweet, like the morning light filtering through the grand windows.
Sophia blinked, stunned. My Lady? Who? Me? She's so confused. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. The maid waited patiently, as if she expected Sophia to respond.
"Uh... sorry, what?" Sophia finally managed to say, her voice cracking slightly.
The maid frowned, tilting her head. "Your travel, my lady. Back to the capital. Your carriage is being prepared as we speak."
The capital? None of this made any sense. Sophia's heart raced as her confusion mounted. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, but something told her that would only make things worse. Instead, she nodded slowly, playing along for now.
"Right, the capital..." Sophia muttered, her voice tight as she tried to fake understanding. "Of course."
The maid smiled sweetly and gave a polite bow. "I'll help you get dressed, My Lady."
Sophia's eyes widened. Help her get what now? She blinked in disbelief as the maid glided toward the enormous wardrobe, pulling open its doors with the kind of ease that only came with routine. The maid moved with quiet efficiency, selecting an elaborate gown that looked like it belonged in a historical drama, not real life. With the gown draped delicately over her arm, the maid laid it across the bed, smoothing it out as if preparing for some royal ceremony.
And then, to Sophia's growing horror, the maid turned back toward her, clearly intent on undressing her.
Absolutely not.
Panicked, Sophia stepped back, instinctively crossing her arms over her chest as if that would somehow protect her dignity. "Don't come near me!" she blurted out.
The maid froze, her eyes wide with confusion. She quickly lowered her head, bowing in apology. "My Lady, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Sophia's heart pounded in her ears. No way in hell was she letting this girl—or anyone—see her naked! "I-I'll get dressed myself!" she stammered, taking another step back as if distance would solve everything.
The maid, however, looked as if Sophia had just suggested something entirely out of the ordinary. "But, My Lady, it's my duty to assist you," the maid said, her voice soft but insistent. "It would be improper for you to dress without help."
Improper? Sophia's brain short-circuited. Since when was it improper to put on your own clothes?
"Uh, I don't think I need help for that," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I've been dressing myself just fine for... for years."
The maid looked genuinely baffled now. "But, My Lady, you've always had help. And today's journey to the capital is important. You must look your best."
"Look, I can handle it," Sophia insisted, her mind scrambling for a convincing reason. "I'm... I'm trying something new. A, uh, self-sufficiency thing. You know, personal growth."
The maid blinked at her, clearly not understanding. "Personal... growth?"
"Yes, exactly!" Sophia said, latching onto the ridiculous excuse. "I want to, you know, be more independent. Dress myself, do things on my own. It's, uh, empowering."
The maid's expression didn't change. She smiled politely but shook her head. "I'm afraid I cannot allow that, My Lady. It is my responsibility to make sure you are properly dressed. It would be... improper for me to neglect my duties."
Sophia groaned inwardly. What is with this girl and the word 'improper'? She tried again, "But really, I'll be fine. I'm very capable."
The maid's face softened into a look of concern. "My Lady, you've been unwell. Please allow me to help. It's... my honor to assist you."
Sophia stared at her, defeated. How could she argue with "honor"? She sighed, rubbing her temple. "I don't need-"
The maid stepped closer, already preparing the gown for her to step into.
Sophia threw her hands up in exasperation. "Okay, okay! Fine. You win," she grumbled.
The maid bowed deeply, a victorious glint in her eye, clearly pleased with herself. Sophia sighed, looking at the overly complicated gown like it was some kind of puzzle designed to test her patience.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered, more to herself.
With a resigned sigh, she let the maid help her into the gown. It was surprisingly heavy, and Sophia couldn't help but feel like she was being swaddled in a mountain of fabric. At one point, the young maid tugged on a lace, and Sophia squeaked in surprise.
"Am I supposed to breathe in this thing?" she asked, half-joking, half-genuinely concerned.
The maid, still focused on her task, nodded enthusiastically. "Of course, My Lady. A little discomfort is expected."
"A little discomfort? I feel like I'm being wrapped up like a Christmas present."
The maid tilted her head, confused. "Christmas?"
"Never mind."
As the maid helped her into the gown, Sophia's thoughts raced, trying to piece together what little she knew. One moment, she had been walking out of a convenience store, the rain pouring down as she thought about how to turn her life around. Then came the blinding light, the screech of a horn—and now she was here. In this unfamiliar, fancy room, in a body that wasn't hers, with this maid calling her My Lady.
A soft knock at the door pulled her from her spiraling thoughts. The maid straightened and went to answer it, leaving Sophia standing in the middle of the room, feeling both lost and absurdly overdressed.
After a brief exchange, the maid returned. "My lady, your breakfast is ready."
Sophia nodded automatically. "Right," she muttered. Sophia glanced down at the gown, the heavy layers of fabric cascading around her. It felt strange—like she was wearing someone else's skin, not just someone else's clothes.
My lady... What did that even mean? Who was she supposed to be? A princess? Her mind spun with a dozen wild theories. Was this some kind of reincarnation? A second chance? Or was she trapped in some parallel reality? None of it made sense, but one thing was clear—if this was her new life, she had no choice but to play along for now.
Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Sophia forced herself to stand taller. If she was going to figure out what was going on, she'd need to keep her cool. There had to be answers somewhere in this strange place, and the sooner she found them, the better.
The maid stepped forward, gently holding Sophia's arm as if she were guiding something fragile. "Allow me, My Lady," she said with a warm smile.
Sophia hesitated for a moment, then let the maid lead her out of the room. The moment she stepped into the hallway, her senses were overwhelmed. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and lavender, and the soft murmur of bustling activity echoed through the corridors. Maids hurried past, their arms laden with elaborate bags and boxes, moving with a quiet efficiency.
As they caught sight of her, they paused, bowing their heads respectfully. "Lady Ellira," they greeted in unison.
Ellira. So that was her name now—this body's name, at least. She stole a glance at her reflection in a passing mirror, the elegant figure looking back at her still unfamiliar, yet undeniably regal. Lady Ellira. It didn't sound like her, but if that's who she had to be... then so be it.
The title felt heavy, like an ill-fitting crown, but she forced a small smile and nodded in response, trying to look composed. Inside, though, her mind was whirling. Who was Ellira? What kind of life had this woman lived? And how was Sophia—no, Ellira—going to survive in it?
As they descended the grand staircase, Sophia made a mental note to start asking subtle questions, to gather whatever scraps of information she could. For now, she'd play the part, keep her head down, and figure out what the hell was going on.
---
After her elaborate breakfast—one she could hardly enjoy due to the suffocating tightness of her gown—Sophia found herself once again being led by the maid she still didn't know the name of. She had wanted to ask the girl earlier, but every attempt at forming the question in her mind seemed awkward. How do I ask someone who seems to have been with me for years what her name is? The thought nagged at her, but she decided to wait until someone else mentioned it.
As they walked outside, the grandeur of the mansion and the sprawling countryside hit her with full force. The landscape was a painter's dream—rolling hills and lush greenery that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was breathtaking but also deeply foreign. None of it felt like home, and the discomfort of being in a body that wasn't hers only amplified that feeling.
In front of the mansion stood an ornate carriage, polished to perfection, its sides decorated with intricate designs. Two sleek, glossy horses were hitched to it, their coats shimmering in the sunlight. Just looking at the scene made Sophia feel out of place. It was as though she had stumbled into a historical drama, but she was the actor who had forgotten her lines.
As she stood there, blinking in the bright light, a man in his mid-forties approached her. His attire was formal and crisp, and he moved with a practiced grace. He bowed deeply when he stopped in front of her. "Lady Ellira, I trust you are ready for the journey to the capital?"
Sophia stiffened, forcing a nod. "Yes, I... I'm ready," she replied, though in truth, she had never felt less prepared for anything in her life.
The man straightened, gesturing toward the carriage."Very well, Lady Ellira. The journey to the capital will take three days. We have prepared everything for your comfort." He paused, adjusting his tie with a quick, precise motion before adding, "Your father is most eager to welcome you back, Lady Ellira."
Father? A fresh wave of panic surged inside her. She hadn't even thought about having a family in this world—let alone a father. It was overwhelming to imagine someone out there expecting her, someone she wouldn't recognize.
As she approached the carriage, her nameless maid stepped forward to assist. Sophia placed a hesitant hand on the girl's arm, the question finally on the tip of her tongue when—
"Twyla, hold the door steady, please," the man said, nodding toward the maid.
Twyla. Sophia exhaled quietly in relief. Finally, a name.
Twyla gave a small nod in response and dutifully held the carriage door open. With the maid's help, Sophia climbed into the vehicle, settling onto the plush velvet seats. As she made herself as comfortable as the tight gown allowed, Twyla climbed in after her, sitting across from her with a quiet, dutiful expression. Sophia was surprised. She hadn't expected the maid to accompany her on the ride, but it made sense now that she thought about it. If Twyla was her personal maid, she'd be with her every step of the way.
The carriage jolted as the driver climbed onto his seat outside. It lurched forward, and Sophia turned her attention to the window, watching the peaceful countryside roll by. Despite the calm surroundings, her thoughts were anything but. She now knew her name was Ellira, that she had a father waiting for her, and apparently, she was some kind of noblewoman. But the most pressing question still nagged at her: Why the hell am I here?
As the carriage moved along the uneven road, Sophia felt her frustration bubbling to the surface again. She needed answers. She needed to understand what had happened to her. But how was she supposed to figure any of this out when everyone believed she was this Ellira person?
She clenched her fists in her lap, fighting to hold back the rising curiosity. The confusion, frustration, and fear were beginning to overwhelm her, and she struggled to keep her composure. Stay calm. You have to keep it together, she reminded herself, but it was easier said than done when nothing really made sense.
After what felt like hours of heavy silence, Sophia finally spoke up, her gaze landing on Twyla, who sat across from her. "So... how long have I been away from the..uh..capital?"
The young maid looked slightly taken aback but quickly regained her composure. "Nearly twelve years, My Lady. Your recovery here in the countryside was deemed necessary for your health."
"Oh. Right..." Sophia murmured, biting her lip. Twelve years? Recovery? What's wrong with her health? Was this body really sick? She felt weak, sure, but she hadn't realized it was more than just exhaustion.
Silence settled between them, allowing her thoughts to drift back to her former life—her real life.. The pain of standing at the altar, her world unraveling in a series of cruel blows, felt distant now, like a haunting memory from another lifetime. Maybe it was. Yet the memory still stung, and she couldn't shake the unsettling question: What if I never go back? The thought sent a chill down her spine.
Sophia exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the weight of homesickness pressing down on her. She turned her attention back to Twyla, who was quietly organizing some of Ellira's belongings beside her. Desperate for a distraction from the ache of longing for her old life, Sophia decided to press on. "Twyla," she began, careful to keep her tone light, "how long have you been with me?"
Twyla looked up, surprise flickering in her eyes. "I've served you for six years, My Lady. Ever since I was assigned to you by your father."
Six years. That meant she had been part of Ellira's life for over half of the time she'd been in the countryside. Twyla would know things, details that could help her piece together the puzzle.
"And before that?" Sophia pressed, trying to sound casual. "Do you remember what I was like before I got sick?"
Twyla hesitated, glancing out the window for a moment before meeting Sophia's gaze. "I don't know much about before, My Lady. You were sent here before I entered your service. But from what I've heard, you've always been kind... though a bit sheltered."
Sophia chewed on that information. Sheltered. It didn't sound like the Ellira she was expected to be now. She filed the thought away as her mind raced with more questions.
Twyla caught her eye, concern creasing her features. "I must say, it's a relief to see you so well, My Lady. The physicians were quite worried yesterday. You weren't breathing properly... but today, you've recovered beautifully."
Sophia's brows lifted in surprise, her mind sharpening at this new piece of information. Ellira wasn't breathing well yesterday? That's... troubling.
"What do you mean, I wasn't breathing well?" Sophia pressed, her voice steady but laced with curiosity. Twyla's expression shifted subtly—confusion flashing in her eyes as she tilted her head, as if questioning why her lady wouldn't recall something so serious.
Sophia quickly sensed Twyla's confusion. She needed to tread carefully. "I... I don't remember much from yesterday," she added softly, trying to mask her lack of knowledge. "Perhaps I was too weak to notice. What exactly happened?"
Twyla's frown deepened, concern mixing with caution as she considered her words. "You collapsed after your walk in the garden, My Lady. The physicians were summoned immediately. They said your breathing was shallow, and they feared it was another relapse of your condition." She paused, her eyes softening. "But by this morning, you had improved. It was a relief to everyone."
Sophia nodded slowly, forcing a smile even as doubt gnawed at her. And now collapsing and shallow breathing? Damn.
"Well, I'm glad I'm fine now," Sophia said, keeping her tone light, though inside, her thoughts swirled in confusion and unease. She leaned back against the padded interior of the carriage, the gentle sway of the vehicle doing little to soothe her nerves. Her forced smile faded as she wrestled with the growing mystery of Ellira's fragile health.
As the hours stretched on, she and Twyla exchanged more subtle inquiries. Sophia learned that she had been sent to the countryside at the tender age of five due to her "fragile health" and that she had rarely seen her family during that time. The Portchild country manor had become her home, with only occasional letters from her 'family' to remind her of the capital.
Now, after twelve years of isolation, she was returning to the city. The thought of facing a family she didn't remember—or, rather, a family that belonged to this body—made her stomach twist in knots.
The scenery outside shifted as the carriage continued its steady pace, transitioning from the endless greens of the countryside to the outskirts of smaller towns. As the sun dipped low, the landscape glowed in warm hues, but Sophia felt none of it. Instead, she found herself lost in thought.
What am I going to do when I get to the capital? She didn't know the people there, the places, or even the customs of this new world. It was all so overwhelming, and the more she thought about it, the more panicked she became.
What if I say the wrong thing? What if they realize I'm not really Lady Ellira?
She shook her head, trying to calm herself. No. She couldn't afford to think like that. She had survived worse—well, maybe not worse, but certainly strange situations. She just needed to keep her head down and act like she belonged, at least until she figured out what had happened to her and how to fix it.
The first day passed in a blur, with the carriage slowly making its way forward. By nightfall, they stopped at an inn, Merle—the driver, as she'd learned—handled all the arrangements while Sophia and Twyla shared a room. Though Sophia desperately wanted to ask more questions, the exhaustion of the day caught up with her, and she fell into a restless sleep.
By the third day of travel, Sophia felt increasingly anxious. The capital was drawing closer, and with it, the unknown. She had learned a few more details from Twyla over the past two days—subtle bits of information about her supposed life, her family, and the customs of this world—but it still wasn't enough. She didn't know how to act when she arrived or how to pretend to be someone she wasn't.
As they neared the city gates, her heart pounded in her chest. The towering walls of the capital loomed ahead, grand and imposing. The carriage rolled to a halt as they passed through the gates, and a knot of dread tightened in her stomach.
The capital of Nytheria, Eryndor—so Twyla had called it—spread out before her, a sprawling city of stone and marble, with grand buildings and bustling streets. Merchants shouted from market stalls, guards patrolled in gleaming armor, and people filled the roads, creating a vibrant tapestry of life. It felt like a scene from a fantasy movie.
Sophia swallowed hard, her palms sweaty. This is real. This is really happening.
The carriage continued through the city, heading toward the Portchild estate—her new home. As they rolled onward, Sophia tried to breathe through her mounting anxiety, mentally preparing for whatever awaited her inside those grand walls.