What stared back at her from the mirror was a face so beautiful it felt surreal. Her wide, expressive emerald-green eyes glimmered under the soft glow of the chandelier overhead, framed by thick, dark lashes. Her skin was smooth and pale, free of any blemish, with a natural flush of rosy cheeks that gave her a youthful charm. Her hair, a fiery shade of red that shimmered like molten copper under the light, cascaded down her back in soft waves, the strands looking impossibly silky.
Her lips, plump and naturally pink, curved upward slightly as if always on the verge of a smile. The face in the mirror was captivating, possessing the perfect balance between innocence and allure. It was the kind of face that could draw anyone's attention without effort.
But what struck her the most was how youthful the girl in the mirror looked. If she were to guess, the face resembled a girl in her mid-teens, around sixteen or seventeen years old. Seeing this confirmed her suspicions—she had truly transmigrated into the world of the novel. Three years before the villainess downfall during the fire..Just around when the novel had started.
Up until now, a part of her had clung to the hope that this was all some elaborate dream. That was why she had run to her room in such a rush—to see for herself and confirm the truth. And now, staring at her reflection, she had no choice but to accept reality.
Her heart wavered with mixed emotions. The family she now had,the king, queen, and her brother, showed her warmth and care, something she had never experienced in her original life. What made it even better was that she seemed to have been transmigrated three years before the tragic events of the villainess's death. This was an opportunity. She could rewrite the villainess's fate and ensure she didn't meet a fiery end.
But as Isabella gazed at her reflection, she felt conflicted. She couldn't say she was truly happy, nor could she say she was unhappy. Her emotions were too muddled to categorize. In some ways, this new life felt better than her original one, where she had spent her days buried in novels to escape the reality of her estranged, quarrelsome relationship with her parents. Here, she had love, care, and the identity of a princess. She could only hope she wouldn't waste it.
She tore her gaze away from the mirror and looked around the room she now called hers. It was enormous, far larger than the small, cramped bedroom she had in her original life. The walls were painted a soft cream color, adorned with intricate golden patterns. A massive four-poster bed with sheer white curtains sat in the center, its bedding plush and inviting. There was a vanity table set with gilded edges and an ornate mirror, shelves lined with books, and a small seating area near the window where sunlight spilled in through elegant drapes.
The room radiated luxury, and Isabella felt a small pang of disbelief that this was now hers. "A princess," she whispered, shaking her head with a small, incredulous smile. She could get used to this.
But there was no time to dwell on it. If she remembered the events of the novel correctly, her adopted sister was set to arrive soon. In the original story, the villainess hadn't even bothered to wash up after fainting. Instead, she had stormed into the sitting room in a disheveled state, waiting for the saintness to arrive. When her parents ignored her concerns and treated her outburst as an annoyance, she had acted recklessly.
What was it the villainess had done? Oh, yes. She had thrown a fit in front of the adopted sister, shouting accusations and making a scene. This had prompted her parents to reprimand her harshly in front of everyone, humiliating her. That moment had set the tone for the saintness impression of her. From then on, the saintness had viewed the villainess as stupid, hated by her family, and easy to manipulate.
But Isabella wasn't about to repeat the villainess's mistakes. She had no intention of playing the fool. "No," she muttered, determination flickering in her eyes. "Not this time."
She turned away from the mirror and headed toward the washroom, determined to freshen up. If she was going to meet the saintness, she needed to look her best, not as a vulnerable girl but as a composed princess.
Just as she was about to open the washroom door, a knock echoed through her room.
"Come in," she called out, wondering who it could be.
The door opened, and what followed left her stunned. Four—no, five—maids trooped in, each carrying a tray laden with various items. One tray held luxurious soaps and oils, another plush towels, another held brushes and combs, and the rest carried a beautiful, finely tailored dress.
"Princess," they said in unison, bowing deeply. "We are here to assist you with your bath."
Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she was utterly speechless. Assist me with my bath? she thought incredulously. She blinked, staring at them as if they had grown a second head. Who on earth needs help bathing? I've been washing myself just fine for years!!!