"My lady, are you awake?" Serra's voice was soft but insistent.
I cracked my eyes open briefly, only to shut them again.
"My lady, please wake up. You haven't eaten anything in days," Fiona said, her voice full of concern.
At the same time, Clara moved to the windows and drew the curtains open. "My lady, you've been sleeping for three days!"
The sunlight poured in, stabbing at my eyes. Reluctantly, I opened them again, wincing at the brightness.
"Serra, make sure lady wakes up. We'll bring breakfast!" Fiona exclaimed before dashing out of the room, followed by Clara.
As the two maids disappeared, Serra gently brushed the hair from my face and tucked it behind my ears.
Her voice was soft and kind as she said, "My lady, the Duke will return from hunting today. It's important that you meet him."
I raised a hand weakly, and Serra helped me sit up.
Moments later, the two maids rushed back in, carrying trays piled high with all kinds of food.
They set up a table by my bed with practiced precision, arranging an overwhelming assortment of dishes before me.
The sheer brightness of the food—glistening fruits, golden pastries, and shining silverware—made my eyes ache.
Was it possible for breakfast to look this dramatic? I sighed, knowing there was no escaping their determination.
I glanced at the two maids—Fiona, with her jet-black hair and piercing black eyes, and Clara, with her warm golden hair and bright brown gaze.
They had been assigned to me the moment I arrived, along with this extravagant room that felt more foreign than comforting.
The North, with its biting cold and lurking dangers, was nothing like the East. Creatures roamed freely here, and it was no wonder the Duke had left to clear the mountains two days before my arrival.
This place was a land of endless winter, where summer only graced it briefly. And yet, it was summer now—a fleeting warmth in a world of ice.
"My lady, say ah," Serra's voice broke through my thoughts.
Reluctantly, I opened my mouth. She fed me with care, but the food felt like ash on my tongue.
I have no desire to eat, yet Serra feeds me, so I eat. My stomach churns, a hollow sickness lingering.
This bed, soft and inviting, cradles me with a deceptive comfort—I could sleep here forever.
The journey from East to North has drained me, each step stealing pieces of my strength, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
My gaze shifted to Fiona's status screen: [Love 50%].
Then Clara's: [Love 57%].
Finally, Serra's: [Love 5%].
"Hah…" I let out a soft sigh.
'Raising your love for Erana is truly exhausting.'
'I wonder why these two maids care for me so deeply after only seeing me for three days—and most of that time, I was asleep. But in the end, I suppose it doesn't matter.'
The sunlight streaming through the window stung my eyes. Slowly, I lifted my hand and shielded them from the light, retreating into the shadow of my own thoughts.
Fiona began to chatter, her voice bright. "My lady, sunlight is really good for your health. It improves circulation, strengthens the bones, and—blah, blah, blah."
'This girl talks too much.'
"Fiona, stop talking," Clara interrupted sharply.
"Can't you see my lady is uncomfortable?"
'Good job, Clara.' At least she noticed.
Still, despite Fiona's endless chatter, there hadn't been a single mention of the Duke's daughter. I couldn't help but wonder why.
In my first life, I never opened the window in my room. The view had always been of the playground in my family's estate—a constant reminder of my parents laughing and playing with my younger sister.
The sight had been too painful. The thought of sunlight flooding into my space was... unfamiliar.
Life in the Solandris household had been eerily similar to my first life, and the constant parallels made me nauseous.
But here, in this unfamiliar northern mansion, everything felt strangely different.
For the first time, I seemed like one of those heroines from a storybook—admired and cherished without lifting a finger, without earning a single ounce of affection.
It was surreal, almost laughable, how easily love seemed to find me.
It's noisy. I don't like it.
But then again... it is good for Erana. The more people love her, the closer she gets to reclaiming the life she lost. And that's all that will ever matter.
Suddenly, a loud noise echoed from outside, coming from the main entrance.
Serra turned toward the sound and said, "My lady, it looks like the Duke has arrived."
Then, a knock sounded at the door.
Clara asked, "Who is it?"
"It's me, Theron," came the voice from the other side.
Clara turned to me, explaining, "My lady, Theron is one of the Duke's loyal knights."
Serra looked at me and nodded. "You may open the door."
Clara opened it, and the knight delivered his message. "The Duke has arrived and requests that you meet him in his office."
"We will come down shortly," Serra replied, and the knight left.
I motioned for the maids to clear the food, then Serra helped me sit up.
They bring in several luxurious dresses, and for a moment, I am startled. I wonder where they have gotten such fine clothing. Then, the realization dawns on me. Right. They have a daughter. These must belong to her.
Serra stands quietly by my side while Clara and Fiona help me get ready.
It's exhausting—having to be dressed and presentable every time I step out of my room. Living as a noble lady, it seems, is far harder than I imagine.
I looked at the mirror, staring at the girl who stared back. Her eyes, heavy with exhaustion, seemed distant—unfocused. And yet, there was something undeniably beautiful about her. I couldn't quite place it.
After finishing, Serra's soft voice broke through my thoughts. "Let's go, my lady."
Clara and Fiona walked behind, keeping pace with Serra, their presence a silent support.
As I took a step, I realized how clumsy my movements were. My legs felt heavy, as though I had lost all my stamina.
The mansion itself was staggering. It was much larger than the Solandris mansion, far more expansive than I had ever imagined.
This place could rival the royal palace in grandeur. It felt endless, stretching out in all directions. I couldn't help but marvel at the sheer scale of it.
I glanced around as we walked, noticing how many maids and servants bustled about.
For a mansion tucked away in the north, it certainly had a lot of people working within it, all attending to its opulence. The luxury was tangible in every corner, from the way the sunlight shimmered on the floors to the elegance of the furnishings.
We came to a large, imposing door, and Fiona opened it with a quiet bow. "My lady, please enter. It seems the Duke hasn't arrived yet."
I stepped into the room.
The space before me was vast, seemingly endless, with high ceilings that made everything feel grand. A magnificent chandelier hung from the center, its crystals catching the daylight and casting soft, shimmering reflections across the room.
It resembled a meeting hall, but it was more than that—this was a space with purpose, built for private gatherings and important discussions.
There were no extravagant decorations, just the essentials: a large table at the center and several couches arranged around it.
The most striking feature, however, was the windows—tall and wide, they offered an unobstructed view of the lush gardens outside, filling the room with natural light and a sense of serenity.
It felt as though the room could belong to the Duchess, with its understated elegance and the privacy it offered.
As my eyes wandered across the space.
My gaze shifted to a large painting on the wall.
A woman sat with grace and elegance, draped in a luxurious red dress. Her long red hair flowed like a river of fire, and her gray eyes, cool and steadfast, seemed to capture an untold story.
For a moment, my breath caught in my throat. My heart raced, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.
This woman… she looked exactly like me. Could she be? Was this Erana's mother?
Just then, the sound of the door creaking open pulled me from my thoughts.
I turned to see a man standing in the doorway. His hair was a deep blend of navy blue and black, wet strands dripping water as if he had just stepped from a hurried bath.
His white shirt clung to his chest, soaked through, yet the unmistakable scent of blood lingered around him, as if he had tried to wash it away but was too urgent to fully cleanse himself.
His eyes—striking, purple, and filled with an unmistakable recognition—locked onto me.
His gaze flicked from the painting to me and then back to the painting again, as if he was trying to make sense of what he saw.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stand still. He closed his eyes briefly, as if steeling himself, then opened them again with a deep, sorrowful breath. His hand clenched at his side, his voice breaking the silence as he spoke.
"Selene."
I glanced at his status screen. Initially, all percentages were at 0%. But when he uttered my name, the love percentage soared to 80%.
'Ah, I see.'
'I understand now...'