Being a baby is weird.
Being a reincarnated baby with a fully intact adult brain? Weirder.
You know exactly what's happening—you just can't do anything about it.
Can't talk. Can't walk.
Can't even poop without someone cheering like you just graduated medical school.
Peak humiliation.
So there I was. An actual baby.
Reborn in a nursery bigger than my old apartment, decked out with floating mobiles that sang lullabies in four languages. The walls even changed color based on my "mood." Apparently, fuchsia meant "mild emotional distress." I saw a lot of fuchsia.
One morning, I felt eyes on me before I even opened mine. A soft coo came from somewhere above, and then the world tilted as a pair of warm hands scooped me upright. I blinked at bright drapes, gilded lamps, and two faces way too close to mine.
"Good morning, my little miracle," said a woman in silken robes. "Sleep well, Lyra?"
Lyra. That name felt weird in my head. I tried to answer, but the best I managed was a weak "goo."
Yep. That's me now. Lysara Aetheria.
Once upon a time, I was Lee Ra—28, overcaffeinated, underpaid, and spiritually allergic to Excel sheets. Now I was this bundle of magical joy with zero teeth and a nanny who thought enchanted bonnets were the height of baby fashion.
Someone help me.
To be fair, I was technically living the dream.
My crib had more enchantments than a palace vault. My milk was warmed by literal fire sprites. My toys restuffed themselves. My blankets adjusted their fluff level depending on the weather. I had glow-in-the-dark star ceilings and a lullaby harp that played itself.
Luxury.
And yet?
Still a baby.
You ever try panicking with the emotional range of a soggy marshmallow? Because that's where I lived for two solid weeks.
Especially the day I accidentally broke a diagnostic mana crystal.
"She's strong," one of the court mages whispered, casting more spells around my crib.
"Are you saying the baby broke the mana stone?" another gasped.
Oops?
Look, I didn't mean to overcharge their precious crystal. I was just curious.
And maybe a little gassy.
I grabbed at the air. "Fuck," I thought. "Morning already?"
My blanket swished around me—I was swaddled tighter than a burrito. I wiggled, worked my arms free, and gave myself a half-decent stretch. The silk sheets even adjusted themselves.
Quite the upgrade from my old scratchy polyester comforter.
The woman—Thalia Aetheria, if I caught the name right—smiled like I'd just told the funniest joke.
Next to her, Duke Lorien Aetheria looked less amused, more curious, like he'd just discovered a new species of magical frog.
"Duchess, please," the duke murmured. "She deserves her rest."
Rest? My work emails back home would file a complaint if they knew I was snoozing in a magic tower. But, you know, priorities.
"Of course," Thalia sighed, adjusting my blanket. "I'll send for her nurse."
Right. In this world, everyone had a nurse, a tutor, or at least a life coach.
My old life coach was a motivational cat poster taped to the break-room fridge.
A soft knock at the door. A maid stepped in, holding a small basin and a warm smile.
"Nurse Mariel," Thalia said, "will prepare our daughter for breakfast."
Breakfast. Step one: find out what people eat here. Step two: pray it's not snails or... I don't know, boiled frogweed.
"Shall I feed her porridge, Your Grace?" Mariel asked.
Porridge? My brain hit the brakes. I loved porridge—oatmeal was my safe space.
But would it taste like marshmallows or wet chalk?
I managed a hopeful baby nod.
Mariel smiled and unwrapped me from the burrito blanket. The cloth was so smooth, I half-suspected enchantment. A puff of mana warmed my skin as the folds fell away. Instant temperature control. Nice.
She dabbed my forehead with a cloth. "There we go. Nice and clean."
Nice and clean, sure. But I'd sell my soul for a decent toothbrush right about now.
She sat me in a princess chair—velvet cushions, carved lion heads, the works.
"Open wide."
The spoon hovered like a silver guillotine.
I obeyed. Because let's be honest—baby body, no pride left.
Warm oats. Faint sweetness. A hint of cinnamon.
Okay. That was actually... good.
Better than ramen, at least.
Mariel hummed a lullaby in a language I didn't recognize. Something calming and strange.
It reminded me of lullabies from a childhood I'd half-forgotten.
I swallowed and made a mental note: Make the nurse your ally.
Now let's talk about the family.
Lady Thalia Aetheria, my mother, was the kind of woman who could shut up an entire royal council just by walking in.
She was elegant, terrifyingly poised, and smelled like lavender and ancient grimoires.
She held me like I was a miracle—and possibly a loaded weapon.
She'd hum in forgotten tongues, sip imported tea, and cast enough protective charms on my crib to survive a dragon attack.
"You're not what I expected," she whispered once. "But you'll do just fine."
...What the hell did that mean?
Then there was my dad: Duke Lorien Aetheria.
If Thalia was moonlight, he was a thunderstorm in formalwear.
Tall. Sharp-eyed. Dead serious.
He had the aura of a man who could bankrupt you with a single nod.
He didn't say much, but when he did, entire rooms went silent.
He held me like I was made of prophecy.
And once—just once—I caught him smiling when I gnawed on a spell scroll.
Respect.
And then there was Theo.
My older brother. Age: Five. Full-time prodigy. Part-time brat.
The first time he saw me, he tilted his head and said,
"Why is it making that noise?"
"That's called crying, dear," Mother replied.
"Can we return it?"
Honestly? Valid question.
He treated me like a cursed relic. Wouldn't talk to me. Wouldn't touch me.
But sometimes, I'd catch him sneaking in. Once, he left a stuffed lion by my crib and sprinted out like he'd committed a federal crime.
He was trying. Sort of. In his grumpy little way.
Eventually, the rumors began around the dukedom.
"The duchy's daughter is weak."
"Mute."
"Possibly cursed."
Good.
Let them think that.
I wasn't trying to be a main character.
I was trying to survive. Quietly. Lazily. Preferably under a blanket.
Because if my memories were true—if I really was living inside a story that I faintly remember.
Then I was in danger.
Yeah, no thanks.
I had a plan.
Live. Hide. Nap often.
And rewrite my fate—one lazy day at a time.