"Grandma.... Please turn off the lights..." came the voice.

Birds chirped outside, hopping along the balcony railing. The curtains had been drawn shut, but morning slipped through in soft streaks, pale and lazy. Inside the room, on a tall canopied bed, a woman lay deep in the mattress, barely moving, half-lost in the warmth of sleep.

Her hair spilled around her like scattered jewels. Deep red like rubies, dark at the roots and glinting in the light where it caught the shine. A tangled mess, but still striking.

Slowly, her eyes opened, just a quiet parting of lashes. Her gaze settled as the world came into focus. Golden eyes, sharp around the edges but still heavy with sleep. Almond-shaped, wide enough to hold expression without trying. She blinked once, then twice and stilled again.

Her skin held a soft glow, pale but not cold, more ivory than white, touched faintly with rose around the cheeks and collarbone.

She didn’t move yet, just stared at the ceiling quietly. Like she wasn’t quite ready to return to the world.

"Uh.... Am I dreaming?" her brows furrowed as her heart-shaped lips parted in confusion.

Huh? Wait... What is this?

Her eyes widened as her surroundings came into proper focus. She stared at the wide ceiling above her. It was a masterpiece fit for divinity. Its centerpiece, a grand medallion of crimson and gold, bloomed outward in intricate patterns of gilded filigree and ivory scallops. Every curve and crest shimmered under the cascade of a crystal chandelier, casting golden halos across the opulent chamber.

And beneath it, she lay upon a bed that seemed carved from a dream. its towering canopy draped in flowing silk, deep red and soft cream gathered in decadent folds. The headboard rose in a flourish of goldleaf curves and diamond-tufted ivory. Embroidered blankets of ruby and thread-of-gold spilled over the sides, pooling in luxurious weight upon the pale floor. A chaise rested at the foot, upholstered in the same fine tufted silk, framed with curling gold legs.

She sat up slowly.

This wasn’t hers. This wasn’t familiar. And it was far, far too beautiful.

She was frozen. For a heartbeat, or maybe several, her body refused to move. Mind blank, breath caught, muscles slack.

This has to be a dream.

The girl in red, just stared, golden eyes wide with disbelief. Every corner of the room shimmered with decadence. But it wasn’t just the carved gold that left her breathless, it was what lay beyond it.

Across the chaise at the foot of the bed, a table stood. Tea cups, a vase of white flowers, and scattered jewels sparkled like forgotten treasures. The scent of jasmine and roses clung to the air.

She swallowed.

Behind the ornate sofa stretched a series of grand arched windows. Velvet drapes, the same deep red as the bed’s canopy, framed arched niches in the wall, trimmed with gilded carvings of mythical creatures like dragons frozen in mid-snarl, cherubs with watchful eyes.

Through the gleaming glass separating balcony and the room, she could see the curve of the terrace adorned with blooming flowers, velvet-cushioned chairs, and a small round table draped in crimson.

She looked down at her hands.

Where am I? These hands... So delicate... So beautiful are not mine.

Her voice wouldn’t come. Her thoughts wouldn’t settle. She looked up, and her eyes drifted to the large mirror in the corner, standing beside a ridiculously extravagant vanity. It looked like it had been plucked straight out of a queen’s dressing chamber. Gold-gilded from top to bottom, with three arched mirrors framed in intricate carvings, the center one crowned by a sculpted head of a goddess wearing a crown. Dozens of tiny jars and crystal vials cluttered the tabletop, filled with crushed rose petals, powdered pearl, beeswax rouges, and tinted balms. There were brushes with carved ivory handles, old bronze compacts, and ornate perfume bottles with filigree detailing.

But right now, the girl didn’t notice any of the beautiful things around her. She stood up, barely. Her feet dragged more than lifted, sliding over the soft, furred mat beneath her.

The closer she got, the more the fear kicked in...her hands shook, her face lost color, and her breathing went all over the place.

"What... who is she?" Her eyes went wide as she reached out and touched the mirror with trembling fingers.

Her fingers brushed against the glass, cold meeting cold. But it wasn’t the chill that froze her in place. It was the girl staring back at her.

She looked unfamiliar and, too... breathtaking. Long hair spilled down in soft waves around her waist, and even the simple white gown she wore couldn’t hide the curves beneath.

The gown clung gently, hinting at the body it was supposed to conceal. Hips curved gracefully, chest full, posture almost unnaturally perfect as if someone had sculpted her with intention.

But none of that comforted her.

Because those weren’t her eyes, thst wasn’t her body. That girl wasn’t her.

Her breath caught. Her heart was thudding so loud it almost drowned out her thoughts.

This is not me. This can't be me.

She stumbled back, her heel snagged on the edge of the rug, and she went down hard, landing right on her hips with a painful thump.

A jolt shot up her spine, but she barely noticed. Her eyes were glued to the mirror like it had just shown her a ghost. Heart pounding, she scrambled back on all fours, chest tightening like she couldn’t breathe right.

And then—click!

The door creaked open.

She flinched and whipped her head around, still frozen on the floor.

Three women stepped in, dressed in matching pale blue dresses with white aprons tied at the waist. Their hair was pulled back neatly, faces calm except for that brief flicker of surprise in their eyes when they saw her on the floor.

Servants. They looked like servants.

She just stared at them, chest heaving, trying to make sense of what the hell was happening to her.

They started moving toward her.

One of them spoke, soft but quick, "My lady, you’re awake... you should rest...please, don’t push yourself."

Another followed, voice just as gentle, "You’ve only just awakened, don’t strain your body—"

She didn’t understand a word.

Her eyes darted between their faces, her breathing growing sharper, more shallow. They kept talking, maybe even kindly, but to her it all sounded wrong.

One of them knelt and reached out a hand.

She flinched hard. Backed up so fast she slammed into the edge of the vanity behind her. Her chest rose and fell like she was drowning. Her ears were ringing. They were coming closer and closer. Why were they smiling? Why were they acting like this wasn’t terrifying?

Her body couldn’t take it. Her vision blurred, like fog creeping in from the corners. Her heartbeat echoed inside her skull.

She whispered, "Don’t touch me..."

And then everything tipped sideways.

Her body gave out, the floor tilted, and the last thing she saw were those unfamiliar faces rushing toward her, before the world just... went black.

The moment her body collapsed, the room exploded into chaos.

"My lady!" one of the maids shrieked, her voice cracking.

Another dropped to her knees beside her, gently shaking her shoulders, panic written all over her face. "She’s fainted! Go! Call the Duke! Call Lord Kirill!"

Footsteps thundered out the door as one of them bolted down the hall, yelling for help. The others hovered, helpless, unsure if they should touch her more or just pray she’d wake up.

Within moments, rushed footsteps echoed back, boots against marble, voices calling out.

The door slammed open.

The first to enter was a man who looked like he walked straight out of some noble painting. He was tall... 6'2 maybe, with that lean-muscle build of broad shoulders, trim waist, and the kind of presence that hit like a wall. His chestnut brown hair was slightly tousled, and those dark blue eyes… deep, stormy, like staring into the ocean when it’s calm but a storm’s brewing beneath.

His fitted suit was sharp, clean lines and dark tones, the kind of thing worn by men who lived in meetings. He was Lord Kirill Valtoria, heir to the duchy of Valtoria family of Solterra.

Right behind him came someone younger, definitely in his teens, a little shorter, and way less formal. Young Lord Esther, younger brother of Kirill and last child of Duke and Duchess.

His giinger hair fell in soft waves across his forehead, and his eyes were of different colours. Left one gold, right one blue, flickering nervously around the room. His outfit was simpler, more casual, a soft white shirt under a dark vest, sleeves rolled up like he’d just been dragged out of whatever he was doing.

Then came two knights.

One was a giant of a man. Easily the tallest in the room, built like a fortress with thick, solid muscle everywhere, from his arms to the way his armor fit like it was molded straight to his body. Dark hair framed a serious face, and those deep brown eyes scanned the room like they were trained to spot threats even in silk curtains.

Beside him was a teen, maybe a little older than the Lord Esther. Not as tall, but still built strong, muscular in that broad, fighter’s way. His frame was more compact but no less intimidating. wavy dark hair bounced slightly as he walked, and his storm-grey eyes were not cold but soft. He didn’t carry himself like the others, he looked soft and gentle.

Both wore traditional knight’s armor, polished chestplates etched with the house sigil, long dark-blue capes trimmed in silver, boots worn from use, swords at their sides like extensions of their arms.

They walked straight in, their eyes falling on the unconscious girl on the floor.

"Grandma… why didn’t Meredia fight?"

"Because Meredia was in love, darling."

Huh.... Grandma?

I can still hear her voice, soft like cotton soaked in sunlight, lulling me into a place of comfort that felt like home. The memory is hazy, blurry around the edges, but her voice? Her voice is as clear as ever. I remember her heartbeat most of all. The steady thump, thump, thump, of it, warm against my cheek. It told me stories, stories I didn’t understand back then.

"But shouldn't she have fought for her love?" I’d asked her, because Grandma always said that love wasn’t just some sweet thing to be admired from afar. Love had to be fought for. If you weren’t willing to fight for it, then it wasn’t love.

I remember the way her arms tightened around me then, like she was trying to shield me from something I wasn’t ready to face.

"She did."

I blinked, staring at the edge of her shawl, my tiny fingers clinging to it. I looked up at her face, but... it was blurry. Her face, her smile, was a blur in my memory, but her voice, her warmth, her touch... that I could remember.

"No... she didn’t," I said, sure of it even back then. I knew what it meant to fight.

She smiled at me then. I can’t picture the smile, not exactly. But I know it was there. That warm, knowing smile that made the world feel a little safer. The only thing clear in my mind was the gold pendant she wore, swaying gently as she rocked me. It was shaped like an orchid. I could feel it brush against my forehead, that little tickle from the delicate flower pendant.

Grandma had told me grandpa was a gardener, and how she’d fallen in love with him, and the flowers, together. She’d said he loved orchids, and so, she did too. And somehow, I did as well.

We were rocking together in her old chair, her hands wrapped around me, holding me close like she could protect me from the world. I don’t know how long we sat there, the rhythm of the rocking matching the pulse of her heartbeat.

"You’ll understand when you’re older. Not now."

I remember rolling my eyes, though I must've been so small. "Mhhm. You're so weird. Even Kaiju thinks your story is ridiklus."

Kaiju... Why did I say that name? Who was he? I can't place him.

And to be honest, until the day I died, I never understood what Grandma had meant. How had that little lady fought for her love? What did it mean? What was she really saying?

And I never got to ask her about this again either because she left me... Did she die?

And I always wondered what dying felt like. What came after. Where people went.

Did they just wake up in a new body with no memory? Or did they float around doing nothing? Was it boring? Peaceful? Painful?

I wanted to know. Just one day after death. Just one.

But obviously, that wasn’t possible.

You die, and that’s it. No rewinds. No second chances.

Except… that wasn’t how it went for me.

I, Sia Rose, died.

Lupus showed up when I was fifteen. First my legs started getting weak, then my hands. By seventeen, even holding a spoon felt like too much. Hospitals, meds, injections...everything came with a price tag I alone couldn't keep up with.

And one day, I just stopped breathing.

On that creaky bed in my grandma's room. The one with faded yellow bedsheets and a smell that always reminded me of mustard oil and old books.

And then...

I woke up.

.

.

.

.

What the hell...?

Where am I?

Everything around me looked like nothing I’d ever seen. It was just this giant space. No walls. No floor. Just endless fog. Sky full of stars, or maybe not stars. They looked more like glowing bubbles floating in the sky.

I turned, slowly.

Nothing existed here. No buildings, no people, no noise. It was like the world had been erased and I was dropped into whatever came after.

I didn't panic. Maybe I should’ve, but I didn’t.

I just… moved.

No idea how. My body wasn’t moving. I was just… gliding. Floating, maybe? But there was no weight, no feet touching ground.

Can I walk again? Am I floating?

I looked down. My legs had stopped working before I met my death. They—my legs?

There was nothing. Nothing was around me.

No legs. No arms. No body.

but still I was lingering, feelings like I'm alive.

Am I just… a soul?

Okay. Deep breath, if I have lungs.

I kept going. I don't know where, but I didn’t stop either. There was something pulling me forward, not like a force or anything, just a feeling.

And then, in the distance, a tree stood tall. Except its branches were swaying even though there was no wind, and the leaves had those same glowy bubbles hanging from them like fruits.

Under it, someone was sitting.

Is it a person? I shrunk my eyes to see, hypothetically. But they didn’t have a face. No eyes. No mouth. No hair. Just... a figure.

Still, weirdly, why did I like I knew his face but I couldn't describe it. Like his face was somewhere in my mind.

He was playing with one of the bubbles like it was a toy

And then he turned to me.

I don’t know how I knew, but he smiled. I felt it. Like his smile wasn’t on a face but inside my chest.

"Here you are. I thought you were lost." He didn't speak but his voice wrapped around me from all directions. It was very calm and gentle as if very wind was speaking. But there was no wind either.

I didn’t answer. He stood up, his presence growing, moving toward me, though I still couldn’t see him. He was more of a figure in the mist, shifting in and out like something I couldn’t quite touch.

"You’re confused, aren’t you?" His voice had a teasing and playful tone. "That’s okay. You’ll catch on. Eventually."

Confused? I died. How much more confusing can it get?

"What is this place? Where am I? What do you want from me?"

He laughed lightly, his figure twisting in the fog as he spoke. "What I want? Oh, I don’t need anything from you. You’re the one who’s been given something, Sia."

"Something?"

"You were never meant to stay where you were. You never fit in there," he said. "But what you were meant for... well, that’s for you to figure out, isn’t it?"

"What do you mean?"

He paused, as if enjoying the confusion building in me. "You’re not dead, Sia. Not really. You’ve been given the chance to step into a place where you were meant to be. And this world? It’s been waiting for you."

It doesn't make sense. A place where I am meant to be? But I died. I’m dead. This can’t be real.

"You’re not meant to go back, Sia. What’s waiting for you isn’t what you left behind," he continued, but now his voice was more softer and affectionate. "You’ll meet people there who... already know you, in ways you don’t yet understand."

"Already know me?" How? "What do you mean by that?"

He just chuckled, the sound like a breeze through trees, distant but somehow right next to me. "You’ll see. Things are never as they seem when you first arrive. But you? You’ve always had a way of figuring things out. Even when you didn’t know what you were searching for."

What did he mean by that? "Why me?"

His form swirled in the fog. "Why not? You’ve always been part of something bigger. You’ll learn that soon enough."

"Just know this," he said. His voice was growing soft and distant now, "where you’re going... you’re not a stranger there. You never have been."

Something pulled me again, stronger this time, like it was an invisible force.

Before I could speak again, he added, his voice a whisper now ringing in my ear clearly again, "And Sia? You may not remember everything right away. But pieces will come. You’re not just any soul. You’re part of a story that has been told, and retold, long before you even thought about what was coming."

What does that even mean? Is he some lunatic? Wait, what's happening?

There was no ground beneath me nor did I have legs but something beneath me was definitely shaking as if I will fall into it.

"Remember, you’re not starting fresh. You’re picking up where you were always meant to be."

I looked up towards him, to his weird form which appeared closer now. The fog around him began to twist differently now.

"You’ll walk roads drawn in ash," his tone turned light-hearted again, as if telling a bedtime story to a child who wouldn’t sleep. Is he seriously dumb? "One path will bleed. One will bloom. You’ll have to choose with your eyes shut."

I blinked. "What does that even mean?"

He chuckled. "You’ll ask that a lot. Don’t worry, the answers won’t get clearer."

It's getting heavier again.

"There will be mirrors," he said, "but some won’t reflect you. Some will try to wear your skin. Call them what they are: thieves of time."

I frowned. "That sounds... horrible?"

"Or hilarious, depending on the shoes you’re in," he replied, voice tilting with laughter. "Some shoes will fit like fate. Some will blister. But you’ll walk anyway."

Does he like being cryptic?

"There will come a day when the sun forgets its place in the sky, and everything that once hurt... will ask for forgiveness. You won’t know if it deserves it."

"You’ll arrive too early," he added, almost in a whisper, "and then, too late. The stars will rearrange themselves trying to make space."

The fog shifted again, this time curling upward like smoke returning to a mouth. His shape wasn’t there anymore, just the memory of motion.

"Someone will write your name in stone before you’re done living it. Don’t let them."

What does that mean? There was no use of asking him. He wouldn't answer anyway.

"And if, by chance," his voice came once more, softer than mist, "you hear a lullaby before a storm, don’t close your eyes. That’s when it begins."

Lullaby?

Something is happening. I looked down, and a dark void opened under me.

"What—"

The world wasn’t any easier just because she woke up in it, especially not when the body she was in wasn’t even hers.

She opened her eyes again, blinking against the sunlight that now spilled through the wide windows. The heavy curtains had been pulled aside, letting in soft warmth and a breeze that barely registered. Her heart was pounding. Her mind was a mess of questions she couldn’t untangle.

Did… someone sell me?

Is this the afterlife?

"You’re not meant to go back, Sia. What’s waiting for you isn’t what you left behind."

Her breath hitched.

Who… who said that?

There was no one around. Just that faint whisper curling around her brain like a familiar, but impossible smoke to place. A voice that didn’t belong to any face she could recall.

"You’ll see. Things are never as they seem when you first arrive. But you? You’ve always figured it out. Even when you didn’t know what you were chasing."

She tried to grasp the voice, the meaning. But her memory shoved her back towards a blank wall.

All she could see was her grandmother’s smile, blurred by tears and shabby lights off her room, fe suffocating pain, the Lupus diagnosis and er body giving up before she did.

The rest was a fog she couldn’t fight her way through.

"You’ll walk roads drawn in ash. One path will bleed, one will bloom. You’ll have to choose with your eyes shut."

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." she snapped, voice tight as her jaw locked. Her hands clutched the sides of her head, fingers digging in, nails pressing against her scalp like she could claw the voice out.

It didn’t help, because the voice wasn’t outside. It was in her.

"Eri?"

She didn’t look up, because that wasn’t her name. She couldn’t even hear the voice. all she could hear was voice inside her head telling her things she didn't even understand anymore.

A soft, loud voice called again, "Eri? Honey?" Someone stepped inside the room from the balcony.

A woman with rich brown hair with streaks of white hair tied in a sleek bun. Her eyes were blue...beautiful blue as if those were crystals. From apperance she looked in her mid forties but still had a beautiful and elegant charm. She was clad in a breathtaking gown stood there like she’d just walked out of a painting. The dress was deep forest green, so rich it almost looked black under the golden light, with puffed velvet sleeves that swallowed her arms like clouds. Gold embroidery crawled across the bodice in a laced crisscross, hugging her waist tight, and spilled over the neckline and hips like ivy. The skirt flared wide, layered in olive tones beneath, embroidered with blooming roses and vines in gold thread, like autumn frozen in time.

Finally, her eyes moved.

Tears clung to girl's lashes as the footsteps drew closer to the bed. She looked up slowly, like her neck weighed too much. Her vision was still blurry, but the shape of the woman was clearer now.

The woman didn’t flinch, didn’t gasp or rush to comfort.

Her expression simply softened, the way someone looks at a wounded animal, not surprised, just sad.

"Eri, my child," she said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed like she belonged there. "I know it’s been hard on you. I’m sorry… for everything we did."

The girl backed away instantly, even though she had nowhere to go. Her back was already pressed against the headboard, but her legs wriggled helplessly across the sheets like she could somehow disappear through the wood.

"Eri," the woman continued, "we’re really sorry for how we behaved. We didn’t think our ignorance… our silence… would drive you to…"

Her eyes dropped.

To the her wrist. Of left hand.

Along the inside of her wrist ran a pale, jagged scar. Its edges were still faintly pink, with traces of yellowish bruising lingering around it. The skin was slightly raised and tight, the line itself unnervingly straight, a remnant of the one night that had almost ended everything. It had been a month, but the mark still looked angry, like it hadn’t fully let go.

"…you would take such a step," the woman whispered.

But she wasn’t looking at her own wrist. Her wide, watery eyes were fixed on the woman’s face. She wasn’t blinking, wasn’t breathing properly either, chest stuttering with every inhale.

This wasn’t just fear.

It was terror.

The kind that makes your soul freeze while your body keeps shaking.

Everything around her looked wrong. The carved ceilings, the heavy velvet curtains, the massive bed she was lying on, the chirping of birds outside the open balcony. It was too quiet, not like the world she came from...not like the city chaos she knew where life was cars honking, people yelling, phones buzzing. This place felt… fake. Like she’d woken up inside a dream with teeth.

The woman said her name again, softly.

"Eri…"

No.

"Eri... I..."

Sia.

That’s my name.

"My name is not Eri," she croaked out. Her voice was cracked and, trembling like the rest of her. "It’s… it’s not."

The woman blinked. And for the first time, she looked surprised.

Then her brows dipped, and the sadness returned, deeper now. "I see… You don’t even like your name anymore."

She didn’t respond.

The girl—Sia's—eyes dropped to her hands which were small, soft, beautiful in a way she didn’t recognize. Her fingers were too elegant, too perfect.

She whispered like she was trying to convince herself, "M-my… n-name… is…"

She looked up again.

"Sia."

The woman tilted her head slightly, like she didn’t quite catch it, or maybe she just didn’t believe it.

"Oh, you mean the princess?" she said after a second. "She came to see you many times, darling. She was devastated. But you wouldn’t wake, and she had to leave each time in tears."

Then her gaze drifted to the floor, her voice softer. "I don’t think she’ll visit again. She’s to be married soon. Her duties are heavier now. The throne’s weight doesn’t wait for grief."

But Sia wasn’t listening.

Not really.

The name Sia still echoed in her skull like a lifeline she was clinging to in an ocean of someone else’s life.

She was dead. And now she was awake in a world that didn’t know her, and a body that wasn’t hers.

"Who… are you?" Sia’s voice barely made it past her cracked throat.

The woman’s eyes widened, like someone had punched a hole through her chest. "Eri, I—what? What happened? Did you lose your memory?"

Before Sia could blink, the woman stood up and closed the distance in a heartbeat. Her hands came up, cupping Sia’s face like she was holding the most fragile thing in the world. Sia froze, not because the woman caught her before she could pull away, but because her touch felt… different. it was soft. The cold backs of her rings grazed Sia’s cheeks, and the scratch of her long nails was almost unnoticeable, like a feather brushing through a storm.

Sia’s eyes locked with hers.

Beautiful.

It was like some weird hypnotic spell wrapped around her senses. And then, suddenly, she noticed the tears pooling at the corners of the woman’s eyes.

"You don’t remember your own mother?" the woman whispered, voice breaking. "I… I am your mother. I am Elowen… your mother, Eri."

"Mother?" The word hit Sia like a slap. She’d never had a mother. Just her grandma was her only real family.

Elowen nodded, the tears now streaming down her cheeks. "Yes, darling. I am your mother. Please… don’t say that. Don’t break my heart… don’t forget me."

Sia swallowed hard, chest tightening. The woman’s face was soaked in sorrow and hope, but all Sia felt was the cold twist of confusion.

"Eri... I know we've been hard on you suddenly. For many years we took care of you as a delicate thing and then suddenly forced responsibilities on you..."

Sia suddenly wasn't feeling scared. She just listened to Elowen even though she understood anything equal to zero.

"My child… we will never force you into anything."

"I will—"

Her stomach picked the perfect moment to betray her.

A loud growl cut through the air, and Elowen blinked, then chuckled softly, head dipping as if trying not to laugh outright. "I’m sorry," she said, eyes warm now, almost amused. "You must be starving. After all, you’ve just woken up after a whole month."

She gently let go of Sia’s face and straightened up, regaining that noble composure like it was stitched into her bones. "Let’s have breakfast together. With the family." Her voice softened. "They… all want to apologise to you."

Sia blinked. "Family? Who—"

That flicker crossed Elowen’s face again like someone smacked her across the soul, but she swallowed it down and plastered on a smile and took a deep breath.

"You’ll see them," she said instead, and extended a hand.

Sia stared at it.

Then, slowly, like her limbs were on delay, she placed her hand in Elowen’s. The older woman gave a small, almost relieved squeeze and helped her up from the bed.

The floor felt cold under her bare feet, and her legs? Felt like sticks. Her knees wobbled, and before she could stop herself, her arm instinctively hooked around Elowen’s, likike muscle memory, like this body knew what to do even if she didn’t.

Elowen froze for a second, probably surprised, but then smiled.

As soon as they stepped out, Sia thought she’d faint.

The corridor outside was massive, endless and stupidly fancy. The floor tiles were a neat checkerboard of white and deep blue. A rich red carpet with gold threading ran straight down the middle like someone rolled out a royal scroll just for her feet. The ceilings were tall.

Way too tall and covered in more carvings than she could process, and chandeliers the size of baby elephants hung low, catching the golden candlelight.

There were Just doors opening into rooms, on either side. All were closed and glinting like they were dipped in gold.

The walls weren’t empty either.

Portraits lined them, tall and framed like sacred relics. But these weren’t random royal paintings, they looked like family, familiar yet foggy.

A man with deep red hair and kind eyes, a woman holding a baby in her arms. Two boys laughing, frozen in time. It was all vague like she’d seen them somewhere or maybe this body had.

Everything about the corridor screamed luxury and history.

Sia didn’t say anything, just stared as she walked, her grip on Elowen’s arm tighter than it probably needed to be.

But Elowen didn’t comment. She just walked beside her.