The first sensation was pain. A dull, aching pressure throbbed at the back of Elara's skull, sending ripples of discomfort down her spine. It was not unbearable, but the way it lingered—persistent and insistent—made it difficult to think clearly. When she tried to move, her arms felt heavy, her legs sluggish. Everything was wrong. The softness beneath her was too plush, the scent in the air too delicate. Her fingers twitched against what felt like silk sheets, the texture far too luxurious for what she remembered. That was the first sign that something was off.
The second was the voice.
"Saintess Elara, are you awake?"
The words were spoken with reverence, gentle yet urgent, by someone close. Panic laced the edges of Elara's mind. She forced her eyes open, the sudden brightness stinging. A grand room bathed in morning light came into focus—ornate white walls with gold inlays, towering windows with heavy drapes, a polished wooden dresser adorned with delicate trinkets. The scent of fresh flowers mingled with incense, a sweetness too suffocating in the air.
And there, standing beside her bed, was a girl dressed in what could only be described as the attire of a devout attendant. Her silver hair was braided neatly, her hands clasped before her as she peered at Elara with deep concern. She was young, perhaps sixteen, with soft features that radiated an almost unnatural devotion.
Elara swallowed, throat dry. "…Where am I?"
The girl's expression shifted slightly, though she quickly masked it with practiced serenity. "Saintess, you collapsed yesterday during prayer. The healers assured us you only required rest, but you have been asleep for longer than expected. We were all so worried."
The words barely registered before something else crashed through Elara's thoughts like a thunderclap.
Saintess.
She knew this setting. She knew this name.
Because she had created it.
Elara Valtara—The Saintess of the Holy Order—was a character in a yuri academy game she had designed. A character with a tragic fate, forever devoted to the divine, beloved by all but secretly harboring a masochistic desire that she herself did not understand. A character that had no player route, only an NPC meant to act as a gentle, suffering figure within the story.
But this wasn't a game.
This was real. The realization sent a shiver of something indescribable down her spine. She had died—or at least, she thought she had. The memories of her past life were foggy, distant. The last thing she remembered was being at her desk, exhausted, staring at the endless lines of code and dialogue she had crafted. Then… nothing.
And now she was here.
Her fingers curled into the silk sheets. A mixture of fear, confusion, and something else—something darker—bubbled in her chest. Because if this was real, then everything she had written about Elara was real, too. Including the fact that, at her core, this saintess was a woman who found solace in pain. A woman whose purity only existed in the eyes of others, while in secret, she relished every touch of suffering, no matter how small.
A shudder ran through her body, and the attendant mistook it for weakness. "Saintess, shall I call for the high priest? Or perhaps the bishop?"
Elara forced herself to breathe evenly, to quell the rising panic. "No… I just need a moment."
She needed more than a moment. She needed to think.
If this world was following the game's timeline, then she was at the very beginning—before the academy formally introduced the heroines, before the events that would lead to the confrontation with the Demon King. If she followed the path of the Saintess as intended, she would remain a background character, beloved but never truly important, quietly suffering until the very end. That was supposed to be her fate.
But she was no longer an NPC.
Her fate was no longer written.
Her breath came slow and measured as the weight of it all settled in. Her identity. The world she was in. The future that lay ahead. The danger that lurked beneath the surface. But more than all of that, one thing stood out more clearly than anything else.
Her body.
Her body was sensitive.
Even now, the dull ache at the back of her skull had yet to fade completely. Every shift of her limbs, every movement of the fabric against her skin, sent subtle tingles through her nerves. It wasn't overwhelming, but it was noticeable. Her breath hitched slightly as she pressed her fingers lightly against her wrist, feeling the faint throb of her own pulse.
The sensation was real.
And it was hers.
Heat coiled in the pit of her stomach—not just from the situation, not just from the panic, but from the creeping realization that the very thing that had defined this character's hidden nature was now something she would have to live with. The very thing that had been nothing more than lines of code, hidden dialogue, implied suffering—it was now her reality.
The thought was terrifying.
And exhilarating.
A knock at the door startled her, breaking the trance. The attendant straightened immediately, turning to address the newcomer. "Enter."
The door opened, and in stepped a tall figure clad in pristine white robes, trimmed with gold. The High Priest. His presence was commanding, his sharp gaze sweeping over Elara before he softened it into something more appropriately reverent. "Saintess Elara," he intoned. "It is a relief to see you awake."
Elara straightened, keeping her expression composed. "Forgive me for worrying everyone. It seems I was merely exhausted."
The High Priest gave a knowing nod. "The weight of the divine is heavy, but you bear it with grace. However, we must ensure your health remains strong. You are the light of the Holy Order, after all."
A title, nothing more. A burden she had written for this character without ever considering what it would truly mean to live beneath it.
She bowed her head slightly. "Of course."
"Then," the priest continued, his tone gentle but firm, "perhaps a visit to the academy will do you good. The Holy Church has already arranged for you to attend as an honored student. A place where the most promising young nobles train, and where your guidance may serve as an inspiration."
The academy.
The place where everything truly began.
Elara's fingers twitched against the sheets. She knew what awaited her there—the heroines. The ones who, in time, would become entangled in her fate. Some noble, some fierce, some kind… and some who would, inevitably, see through the carefully crafted mask she would try to wear.
She could refuse. She could attempt to stray from the path. But a small, insidious thought whispered in the back of her mind.
She didn't want to.
Because no matter how much she tried to deny it, the truth remained: she was already beginning to wonder just how much of her former self was truly gone. And just how much of this world's Saintess had always been a part of her.