Irina Everhart
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As the sunlight filtered softly through the delicate curtains, I stirred awake, the luxurious bedding wrapping around me like a cocoon. For a moment, I forgot where I was. Then reality hit me like a cold splash of water: I was Irina Everhart, now living in this opulent mansion filled with riches, expectations, and suffocating duties.
I reluctantly swung my legs over the edge of the bed and planted my feet on the plush carpet, wincing slightly at the chill. Almost immediately, a couple of maids entered my room, bustling about as they prepared my outfit for the day. Their soft whispers and the rustle of fabric filled the air, but I wasn't in the mood for their cheerful energy.
"Good morning, Miss Everhart," one of them chimed, holding up a dress that was undoubtedly meant to be elegant and refined. But to me, it looked like torture in fabric form. I couldn't help but frown at the frills and lace.
"Uh, excuse me?" I said, raising a hand as they turned to me. "Can we change this? This dress is really itchy."
The maids exchanged quick glances, their smiles faltering as they processed my request. "Of course, Miss," the curly-haired maid replied hesitantly. "We can find something more comfortable for you."
As they rushed off to find a new outfit, I felt a glimmer of hope. I couldn't understand why Irina liked this kind of clothing. What was wrong with a comfortable dress? Or better yet, a pair of baggy pants and a loose top? Why couldn't noblewomen have good dresses that didn't scratch at their skin?
When the maids returned, my heart sank. The next dress was only marginally better—a little less frilly but still restrictive. "What the hell? Do noblewomen not understand comfort at all?" I grumbled under my breath as they helped me put it on.
After wrangling with the dress, I decided to find Celine. She always seemed so calm and kind, even amidst the chaos of this lavish life. I dashed through the hallways, the fabric of my dress swishing uncomfortably around my legs, until I reached the kitchen.
Without warning, I hugged her from behind, startling her. "Celine! I want to help you!" I exclaimed, my voice bright with enthusiasm.
Her eyes widened in surprise, and she turned to face me, momentarily speechless. "Lady Irina, You can't just sneak up on people like that."
"Why not? It's fun!" I said with a grin, hoping to coax her into my plans.
Celine hesitated, her brow furrowing as she tried to process my unexpected energy. "You really don't have to help. It's a lot of work."
"But it sounds like fun!" I insisted, my excitement bubbling over. "I want to help!"
After a moment, she sighed, relenting with a small smile. "Okay, if you insist, but just be careful."
We began preparing breakfast together, and for the first time, I felt a sense of normalcy amidst the opulence surrounding me. The scent of fresh bread and pastries filled the air, mixing with the sound of clattering dishes and gentle laughter. However, it wasn't long before disaster struck.
As I reached for a spoon, Celine bumped into me, and in an instant, a glass slipped from her hand and shattered spectacularly on the floor, the sound echoing in the otherwise serene kitchen. "Oh no!" she gasped, her eyes wide with panic.
I couldn't help but laugh, shaking my head. "It's fine! It happens all the time! Don't worry about it!"
But Celine looked utterly terrified, rushing to gather the shards of glass. I leaned down to help her, only to feel a sharp sting in my finger. "Ouch!" I yelped, glancing down to see a small cut blooming red.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice filled with concern as she spotted the blood.
"Seriously, I'm fine! It's just a little scratch," I said, trying to reassure her, though the pain was sharper than I had expected.
"Let me find something to heal it!" she said, her eyes darting around the kitchen in a flurry of activity.
While she rummaged through drawers, I smiled despite the sting. "Celine, it's really okay. I promise it's nothing to worry about."
Finally, she returned with a cloth, her hands trembling slightly as she pressed it to my finger. "I'm so sorry, Lady Irina! I didn't mean to break it!"
I chuckled softly, my heart warmed by her concern. "Why do you always apologize?" I asked, genuinely curious.
Her expression faltered, and she stayed quiet for a moment, her gaze dropping to the floor. I could see the conflict in her eyes as she thought about her response. "Because… I care," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of her words. "Celine, you don't have to apologize for everything. It's normal to make mistakes." I paused, then added with a light-hearted tone, "Even I made mistakes."
At that, she fell silent, her eyes wide with surprise. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she processed my statement. "You really think so?" she finally asked, her voice tinged with doubt.
I smiled at her, feeling a sense of warmth spreading through me. "Yeah, I do! Besides, mistakes make us human, right?"
After a moment, Celine smiled back, though her expression still bore traces of uncertainty. "You've changed, Irina. A lot."
"Of course I have," I said, my voice firm. Yeah , let Celine suspicious of my behavior. I'm not Irina; I'm Seira. I'm not the villain. I'm a victim of circumstances, trying to find my way in this new life.
Her eyes softened, and I saw the tension ease from her shoulders. "I just didn't expect you to want to help me," she admitted.
"I want to be better," I replied earnestly, my heart pounding at the sincerity of my words. "I want to make things right this time. And that includes being friends with you."
Celine looked at me for a long moment, her expression shifting from uncertainty to something warmer, more inviting. "I'd like that," she said, her voice filled with hope.
Suddenly, overwhelmed with happiness, I threw my arms around her again, hugging her tightly. "Thank you for being so amazing!"
Celine returned the embrace, her smile growing brighter as we stood there, enveloped in a moment that felt like a promise. I had a chance to rewrite our story, to build a friendship instead of a rivalry.
As we pulled apart, I felt lighter, freer.