1. In a Body Not Her Known

"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.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***