The mansion was silent, its grand hallways bathed in the dim glow of wall-mounted crystal lamps. Eleanor, wrapped in a soft shawl over her nightgown, stepped carefully through the corridors, mindful of the dull ache in her head. She had slept enough for one day, and with the absurdity of her earlier dream still lingering, rest was out of the question.
This grand mansion was supposed to be her home, but she knew little about it. The novel provided only vague details, and Eleanor's memories, clouded by the recent injury, were unreliable. Now, with everyone resting, it was the perfect time to explore and gather the information she needed.
As she opened the heavy dark oak door, the dimly lit corridor stretched before her, empty and still.
Her bare feet barely made a sound against the plush carpet as she wandered. The walls were lined with paintings—some of unfamiliar landscapes, others of stern-looking ancestors captured in time by the hands of skilled artists. Occasionally, a flickering lantern cast eerie shadows across their frames, making their gazes feel almost alive.
The lavish furniture, the rich tapestries, and the lingering scent of polished wood and aged parchment made the mansion feel both intimidating and strangely welcoming. This was a place full of history, full of people's lives, and now she was expected to become part of it.
She paused in front of a particularly grand portrait of the Marquess, painted when he was much younger. His expression was softer here, his eyes lacking the weight of responsibility they carried now. Beneath it, a second painting caught her attention—a family portrait, presumably from years ago.
Inside, a younger, small version of Eleanor sat in a chair beside her parents, her usual reserved expression in place. Her ginger hair, still short to her shoulders, framed her face, and her crimson eyes were calm, yet filled with life.
Two figures stood on either side of her, flanking her parents. Both were teenage boys with the same fiery red hair as the Marquess, their handsome, youthful faces striking. The older one, with crimson eyes, was a perfect replica of the Marquess. The younger one, with blue eyes like the Marchioness, stood beside him.
Eleanor quickly recognized the identities of the two young men as her eldest brothers, a realization triggered by the novel's information and the faint stirrings of Eleanor's fragmented memories.
Her gaze sharpened as she studied the painting, but before she could delve deeper into her thoughts, a faint sound echoed from down the hall, interrupting her focus.
As she turned down a long corridor, something caught her attention—a door with light still spilling from beneath it.
Eleanor paused.
She had assumed everyone was asleep, yet faint voices murmured beyond the door. She moved closer, careful not to make a sound. Though the words weren't entirely clear, one phrase sent a chill through her.
"Selection of the Crown Princess."
"...!"
Her breath caught in her throat.
The pressure in her chest tightened as if invisible hands had wrapped around her neck. She didn't need to hear the full conversation to understand what it meant.
The original plot. The miserable fate that awaited her if things followed the novel.
No... No way...
She couldn't relax—not now, not when her future was at stake.
Suddenly, she realized she had been standing still for too long. Heart pounding, she forced herself to move, stepping away from the door as quickly as she could without drawing attention. But her movements were unsteady, her body still weak from injury. Her head pulsed with pain, but she didn't stop. She needed air.
Before she fully registered where she was going, she had wandered outside.
The cool night air hit her skin, bringing much-needed clarity to her racing thoughts. The sky stretched endlessly above her, dotted with stars unfamiliar yet strangely mesmerizing. Compared to the polluted skies of her original world, this was breathtakingly clear.
She walked along the stone path, surrounded by the soft rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of nocturnal creatures.
The Gwendolyn estate was famous for its gardens, especially the sprawling rose plantations. Even in the darkness, the deep red hues of the roses stood out against the neatly trimmed hedges.
Eventually, Eleanor found herself in the heart of the estate's gardens—a hidden gazebo nestled within a maze-like expanse of green.
A small pond stretched beside it, its surface reflecting the moonlight, and within it swam strange, colorful fish she didn't recognize.
But what caught her attention the most was the creature sitting at the edge of the pond.
A round, golden cat with golden pupils and impossibly soft fur. It sat with an air of quiet dignity, its gaze fixed on the water as if monitoring the fish's every move.
Eleanor slowly crouched down beside it, ignoring the slight discomfort in her body as she reached out. Her fingers brushed against the top of its head, stroking gently.
The cat turned its gaze to her—calm, unreadable, yet oddly understanding. Unlike most cats, it didn't meow or move away. It simply accepted her touch, allowing her this small moment of comfort.
Eleanor sighed, feeling the tension in her body ease just a little.
For tonight, this was enough.
....
Eleanor let out a quiet sigh, her fingers still stroking the golden cat's soft fur. The cool night air and the silence of the garden made it easier for her thoughts to spiral.
"What should I do now?" she murmured, half to herself, half to the cat. "I'm stuck in Eleanor Gwendolyn's body, in Gwendolyn's residence, with an injured head and a future I don't want."
The cat flicked its tail lazily, its golden eyes watching her as if listening.
"Should I try to stop the heroine and my fiancé from getting closer, to prevent whatever plan they're scheming from succeeding?" she mused. "In the original story, my fiancé sought a higher status, while the heroine wanted to avoid being chosen as the Crown Princess. So, they agreed to get engaged, leaving Eleanor alone with a tragic fate awaiting her—" She abruptly cut herself off, shaking her head. No, she didn't want to think about what happened next.
"Or… should I just ignore them? Let them do whatever they want and focus on finding a new fiancé instead? That way, I wouldn't have to participate in the Crown Princess Selection."
At the mention of the last option, the cat suddenly let out a sharp meow.
Eleanor blinked at it. "... Are you agreeing with me?"
The cat merely stretched and continued watching the pond, as if its sudden outburst hadn't happened.
She let out a small, breathy chuckle. "So even you think that's the better choice, huh?"
Not that she cared what a cat thought. It was just a coincidence. A very oddly timed one, but still a coincidence.
Before she could dwell on it further, a sudden movement caught her attention.
From where she sat, she had a clear view of the mansion, its large windows darkened for the night. But now, one of them flickered with light, and soon after, the window was pushed open.
A familiar figure leaned out.
Tina.
Her maid's gaze swept across the garden, searching frantically. Then, as if sensing Eleanor's presence, her eyes locked onto the gazebo.
"Lady Eleanor?!" Tina's panicked voice echoed through the quiet estate. "My lady! Where are you?! You shouldn't be out here!"
Eleanor sighed, already knowing what would come next.
Within moments, lights flickered on one by one throughout the mansion. The peaceful darkness was replaced with the hurried footsteps of servants roused from their sleep, their concerned voices blending together. The once-quiet Gwendolyn estate was now fully awake.
Eleanor buried her face in her hands and groaned softly.
"… I should've just stayed in bed."