I have always been fascinated by stories of transmigration and reincarnation, especially those involving princes, dukes, wizards, and enchanted worlds.
Of course, I've often joked that I would love to live something like that, to become the female protagonist of a story full of magic and adventure. But I said that as a mere wish, thinking it was something impossible. After all, they were just made-up stories, right?
That's what I thought...
Today, it has been a week since I started living in a palace, now in the body of a Grand Duchess. Contrary to what I imagined, I'm not living a life full of glamour and happiness. Instead, I am locked in this huge room, trying to adapt to a body and a life that are not mine.
The room I'm in is vast, with walls lined with tapestries rich in detail. The floor is covered by a deep red carpet with a pattern of golden flowers that almost gets lost in the shine of the dark wooden floor. The furniture, all made of fine wood, includes a four-poster bed with heavy velvet curtains, and an oak desk where I find the diary of the owner of this body, which has been my only companion in the past few days.
My appearance reflects the pomp of the title I bear. I have long brown hair that, at the moment, falls loose and disheveled over my shoulders. My skin is fair, with a softness that feels so distant from my previous reality. I am no longer myself, yet I am still me, which is confusing. I see myself in a strange and distant reflection in the mirror—a tall, elegant woman, but at the same time, lost and unsure.
During this week, I have been immersed in reading the diary of the woman who inhabited this body before me. I want to understand who she was, what happened to her, and why I am here. All I know so far is that she was the daughter of Duke Ian Carlot, had a close relationship with Crown Prince Lorian Altharion, and was preparing to become the future empress. But did that really happen? I needed to know more, so I kept reading.
"Two weeks before my wedding, a rumor about a new prophecy emerged at the temple. A saint far more powerful had appeared, stronger than the one from 150 years ago. I asked Prince Lorian about it, but he replied that we shouldn't worry. 'We must focus on the wedding preparations,' he said. Even so, my heart couldn't settle. Not after hearing rumors that the crown prince would have to marry this saint and rule according to an ancient prophecy."
"Since that day, Prince Lorian, who once seemed distant, became much more affectionate and passionate. He sought me out constantly, spoke sweet words, and even touched me more often. We almost consummated our marriage the day before the ceremony, but something stopped me. I remembered my nanny telling me that I shouldn't do it before being legally married, that a man might lose interest after getting what he wanted. So, I quickly pulled away before giving in to temptation.
Even so, that was the second happiest day of my life. The first will be tomorrow."
Rrrum...
My stomach growled, interrupting my reading. I stood up, and the question returned: wasn't she supposed to marry the prince and then become empress? Why, then, is she a Grand Duchess? What happened?
I walked through the palace corridors, trying to piece everything together, but something didn't add up. It couldn't be just that... Maybe there was something I still didn't know, something hidden.
After walking for a while, I reached the door leading to the kitchen. When I opened it, a delicious smell of freshly baked bread and warm soups filled my nose. The palace kitchen was spacious and illuminated by large windows that allowed natural light to stream in, bathing the space in a golden softness. The walls were made of light-colored stone, and the wooden shelves were lined with copper utensils and fine porcelain. The floor, covered with white and blue tiles, reflected the glow of crystal lamps hanging from the ceiling, elegantly lighting the space.
At the center, a large marble table, where the cooks prepared the meals, dominated the room. Surrounding it, several workstations were used for cutting, chopping, and seasoning fresh ingredients brought directly from the palace gardens. A large fireplace took up one of the walls, with a cauldron hanging over it, warming the room.
The kitchen helpers, all dressed in white aprons, moved quickly, tending to multiple dishes at once, while the chef, an imposing and meticulous figure, supervised everything. The sense of warmth was comforting, but at the same time, something felt off. The furtive glances from the staff unsettled me.
When I entered the kitchen, the staff visibly startled at my presence. Some stopped handling the ingredients, others exchanged quick glances, and one of them nearly dropped the plate they were holding. There was an air of unease, but no one dared to voice any disapproval.
The head chef, a burly man with gray hair and skillful hands, was the first to compose himself. He gave a slight bow, which seemed more like a gesture of respect than cordiality.
"Grand Duchess..." he began, his voice deep and controlled. "How may I serve you?"
I felt the weight of everyone's gaze, as if I were a stranger in this space that should also be mine. Their faces carried an air of forced respect, but there was a certain coldness in their eyes, as if they were holding something back. I knew they weren't exactly fond of me, but the rules of nobility compelled them to treat me with reverence.
Helper 1, a thin woman with short hair and a serious expression, was more direct but still polite.
— What would you like, Grand Duchess? We have fresh bread and vegetable soup. — She spoke in a formal tone, but there was a slight stiffness in her voice, as if maintaining her composure was a struggle.
— I'd like something simple, please — I replied, trying to sound more relaxed than I felt. I didn't want the atmosphere to become even more tense than it already was.
Another helper, a young man with fair skin and nervous eyes, glanced quickly at the others, clearly unsettled. He made a shy movement toward a shelf, picking up a freshly baked bread and placing it carefully on the table.
— Here you go, Grand Duchess. Anything else?
I could tell that it wasn't just the surprise of my presence that bothered them. There was a distance in their demeanor, something in their gestures that suggested they didn't like me. Even so, all the staff treated me with distant respect, perhaps out of fear or the obligation to maintain appearances in front of a Grand Duchess.
I wondered what could have caused this behavior. The woman who inhabited this body before me must have been a difficult figure to deal with...
— It's alright — I said, trying to ease the atmosphere. — Just the bread, please. — I smiled faintly, though I knew it wouldn't change much of what they thought of me.
The head chef nodded and, with a quick glance at the others, stepped away to supervise the work. The helpers resumed their movements more calmly, but there still seemed to be a certain chill in the air, as if everyone was eager for me to leave.
With the bread in hand, I decided to return to my room. Even so, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. It wasn't just the coldness of the staff, but a certain apprehension that lingered around me. As if, despite my position, I wasn't truly a part of that world.
On my way back to my room, still reflecting on the interaction in the kitchen, a young boy suddenly appeared, running down the corridors with a worried look. He didn't see me in time and bumped into my skirt. The impact was light, but the shock was enough to make him stop immediately, his eyes wide and frightened.
— Oh! — he exclaimed, quickly stepping back and looking at me with a terrified expression. — I'm sorry, Grand Duchess!
It was a child with dark hair and simple clothes, quite different from the elaborate attire of the other servants. Something about him seemed familiar, but I couldn't place it right away. He appeared to be scared, but also had a certain urgency in his eyes.
— It's alright — I said, smiling gently at him, trying to ease his fear.
— Grand Duchess — he repeated.
I watched the boy for a moment. He seemed hesitant, but at the same time determined. After apologizing again for bumping into me, he took a small step forward, as if he wanted to say something, but hesitated.
— Grand Duchess... — he began, his voice low and full of caution. — Allow me to accompany you back to your room.
I furrowed my brow, surprised by the offer. He was so small, perhaps seven or eight years old, but his tone and posture were surprisingly formal. Before I could respond, he gave a slight bow, as if taking on an important responsibility.
— It's not necessary, I know the way — I replied gently, but he shook his head firmly.
— Please, allow me to help you. It's not safe for you to walk alone... — He looked around quickly, as if expecting something to emerge from the shadows of the corridor. — Also, it wouldn't be appropriate to let you carry everything on your own.
I looked at the warm bread in my hands, barely holding back a smile. He seemed genuinely concerned, but it was clear that there was something more behind that behavior. Maybe he was just trying to please, or perhaps following some order he had received. In any case, I nodded.
— Alright, you may accompany me.
He began walking beside me, but always keeping a step behind, as if he were protecting me or waiting for me to need something. His attentive eyes never left me, but there was something strange in his gaze... it wasn't just respect. It was caution.
The walk to the room was silent. I felt his presence like a shadow, a small guide who seemed to care for me more than anyone else I had ever known.
When we arrived, he stopped at the door and opened it for me to enter. His eyes quickly scanned the interior of the room, as if making sure everything was in order.
— Here you go, Grand Duchess. — He looked at me with a strange gleam in his eyes, as if forcing himself to be even more careful. — I will fetch some hot chocolate to go with the bread. Please, rest while I do.
Before I could respond, he gave a small bow and hurried down the corridor. I stood still for a moment, watching the door slowly close behind him.
The room was illuminated by the soft light of a chandelier, its shadows dancing across the pale stone walls. The heavy dark blue velvet curtains were partially closed, blocking most of the outside light, yet still allowing a light breeze to enter. The atmosphere was cozy, but I felt that the space carried something more — a memory that wasn't mine, yet seemed embedded in every piece of furniture and detail of the place.
I sat in the armchair near the fireplace, still holding the warm bread, and watched the flames dance in a hypnotic way. Something about that boy unsettled me. His concern was evident, but the fear he was trying to hide even more so. What did he know that I didn't?
Seconds later, my eyes turned to the diary I had left on the small table next to the bed. I felt a tightness in my chest. Perhaps the answer was there, in some detail I hadn't yet noticed. I picked up the diary and opened it to the next page, determined to discover more.
I was flipping through the diary absentmindedly when I heard hurried footsteps down the hallway. Before I could lift my head, the door opened slowly, revealing the boy with a tray carefully balanced in his hands. On it, there was a cup of hot chocolate that emitted a sweet and comforting aroma, along with a small plate of fresh fruit.
— Here you go, Grand Duchess. — He entered carefully, keeping his eyes lowered as he walked toward the table near the fireplace. — I hope it is to your liking.
I watched him place the tray with the precision of someone used to meticulous tasks. It was strange to see such a small child act with so much care and seriousness. He glanced at me quickly, as if trying to gauge my reaction.
— Thank you — I replied, with a smile I tried to make reassuring. — And you? Aren't you going to sit down?
He seemed confused by the suggestion, as if he had never considered such a possibility. After a moment of hesitation, he gave a short bow.
— I shouldn't... But, if you allow me...
— I insist. — I pointed to the armchair beside me. — After all, it's not fair for you to run around taking care of me and not rest at all, right?
The boy hesitated, but upon realizing that my insistence was genuine, he sat at the edge of the armchair, his body stiff and his posture almost military. He looked so uncomfortable that it made me let out a muffled laugh.
— Relax. You don't have to be so tense. What's your name?
He blinked, surprised, and took a moment to respond.
— Alex, ma'am.
— Alex... A nice name. — I leaned slightly forward, trying to seem less formal. — And how long have you been here at the palace?
— All my life. — He answered automatically, but then bit his lip, as if he had said more than he should.
I frowned. All his life? That meant he had some connection to this place, perhaps even to the Grand Duke's family. But before I could ask more, he quickly tried to change the subject.
— Are you enjoying the bread? I can bring more if you want.
I took a bite of the bread I was still holding, which was really delicious, and shook my head.
— It's great. But you don't have to run off every time I need something. You can stay here.
He seemed relieved not to have to leave immediately, but still kept a cautious distance, as if walking on thin ice.
— Alex, why do you seem afraid of me? — I asked directly, unable to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that this interaction was giving me.
He froze in place, his face going pale. For a moment, it seemed like he wanted to run, but then he took a deep breath and spoke, his voice almost inaudible:
— I... I'm not afraid of you, Your Grace.
But his tone said otherwise. Something in his posture, the way he avoided my gaze, screamed that he was terrified of me. Or at least, of who he thought I was.
— It's okay, you don't have to answer now. — I decided to change my approach, feeling that pushing him too much might push him away. — But you know, I don't bite. You can relax with me, Alex.
He briefly lifted his eyes, surprised by my lightness. For a moment, I thought a small smile almost appeared on his face, but he quickly returned to his serious expression.
We spent the rest of the afternoon talking. He wasn't very talkative, but little by little, he started opening up. I found out that he liked spending time with the kitchen staff, especially when he could try the recipes, and that he had a special fondness for the horses in the stables. He was a smart and sweet child, but there was something in the way he spoke that seemed to hide a deeper pain.
As night began to fall, Alex looked out the window, noticing the sky darkening.
"It's getting late. I... need to go back." He stood up quickly, as if remembering something urgent, and gave a hurried bow. "Can I bring anything else for you before I leave?"
"No, Alex. You've done enough. Go rest." I smiled at him, and this time, he seemed less hesitant as he left the room.
As soon as the door closed, I kept staring at the spot where he had been sitting. Something about him seemed so familiar, so intriguing. It was strange to think that such a small child carried so much responsibility and, at the same time, so much fear. Who was Alex really? And why did he seem so concerned with pleasing me?
I looked at the diary on the table, feeling the weight of the questions that still had no answers. Perhaps the key to understanding what was happening, both with me and with those around me, was there.
If this world had its secrets, I was going to uncover them.
I picked up the diary again, determined to continue reading. After all, each page seemed to bring a piece of a puzzle I had barely started to put together. However, as I opened the book, I suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion hit me. My eyes grew heavy, and the writing on the pages began to blur.
I sighed and closed the diary for a moment, rubbing my temples. Of course, it made sense. Since I arrived here, I had barely rested properly. I spent days and nights immersed in the diary, trying to unravel Lucy's story and understand what had happened before I took over this body.
My routine consisted of reading, eating little, and sleeping even less. The walls of the room, though beautifully decorated, seemed to grow tighter and tighter, almost suffocating. Maybe I was exaggerating.
I leaned back against the armrest of the chair near the fireplace, closing my eyes for a moment. The warmth of the flames seemed to envelop me, and the sweet aroma of hot chocolate still lingered in the air, offering a rare moment of comfort.
"I'll rest just a little," I thought, feeling my muscles finally relax. My mind tried to resist, insisting that I should keep reading, but my body seemed to have other ideas.
Before I knew it, my head tipped to the side, and I fell asleep right there, the diary still open on my lap.