Pain.
That's all Seraphina felt… She still felt the pain of falling down the cliff—only this time, it was worse. It felt as if the pain had doubled. She felt weightless and unable to move any part of her body.
"Get the physician!"
She came back to her senses, then slowly opened her eyes, ignoring the pain.
Her vision gradually cleared, and she noticed the bright light.
The room she was in felt different. She was drifting in a sea of warmth....a softness she'd never known. It wasn't the cold, damp stone where she had fallen, but something like clouds woven from the finest silk. The room had a scent of exotic blossoms—delicate and fresh.
Where was this? And why was she alive?
A murmur of voices reached her, hushed and reverent.
"The Princess stirs!" one whispered, barely daring to breathe.
"Praise the heavens, Princess Aurelia has awakened!" another breathed, relief evident in every syllable.
A flurry of soft footsteps surrounded her. She felt gentle hands cool and careful—adjusting something beneath her head. These were not the indifferent hands of Marta, nor the harsh ones of her mother. These hands were meticulous. Tender.
She lay on a bed carved from what looked like pure ivory, draped in shimmering fabrics that caught the light like captured starlight. The room was vast, adorned with gilded frescoes and vases overflowing with flowers she had only ever seen in distant paintings.
A polished silver hand mirror was gently pressed into her grasp. Her fingers long and slender trembled as she raised it. She gazed at the reflection within, and her breath hitched.
It was not her face. Not the plain, ugly, unremarkable visage she had loathed.
The face she was seeing was beautiful… It was the face of the beautiful Princess Aurelia Solara.
Hair like spun gold cascaded around the delicate frame, tumbling in soft, radiant waves. Her eyes, luminous and captivating, were the shade of polished emeralds, holding a depth Seraphina had never possessed. Flawless, pale skin stretched taut over elegant cheekbones, and a slender, regal neck rose gracefully from the silken nightgown.
A gasp escaped her—a sound bell-like and clear, utterly different from her own reedy voice.
This is not me, her mind screamed, even as a profound, almost tearful gratitude welled in her chest.
But it is perfect.Every feature, every curve of this exquisite face, was everything she had yearned for in her pathetic past life.
She reached out, tracing the outline of the stranger's cheek in the mirror, feeling the smooth coolness of her own skin. It was real. This was real.
Maids, dressed in elegant livery, moved around her with practiced grace, their whispers a symphony of relief.
"Her fever has truly broken," one murmured, adjusting a silken drape.
"And she seems so calm now, doesn't she? Not like… before."
"Yes," another agreed, her tone conspiratorial. "She was so against it, wasn't she? The Duke. Swore she'd never even look at him. Said she'd marry a stable boy first, if it came to that."*
A third maid giggled. "Or run away to the mountains to become a hermit."
Seraphina listened—a strange thrill mixed with confusion. This Princess Aurelia, this stunning beauty she now inhabited, had been rebellious. Defiant. And she, Seraphina, the girl who had only ever longed for acceptance, was now living the life of a princess who had rejected it.
"Come, Princess," a maid named Lyra, with kind, discerning eyes, coaxed gently. "Your bath awaits. It will soothe you."
Lyra and another maid, Elara, helped her from the bed. Nudity here was simply a state of being, unburdened by shame or self-consciousness. They moved with an ease that suggested such rituals were commonplace, their touches respectful and professional.
She was led to a vast, steaming marble bath, filled with water scented with fragrant oils and floating rose petals.
Seraphina sank into the warmth, a sigh of pure contentment escaping her. The soft sponges, the gentle lathering, the delicate fingers washing her hair… it was intoxicating.
She closed her eyes, letting the water embrace her, feeling the last vestiges of her miserable past life dissolve.
A genuine giggle bubbled up from deep within her—a sound she hadn't known her body could produce. She splashed a little, playfully, the water rippling over her skin. Lyra and Elara paused, then exchanged surprised, amused glances. Soon, they were laughing along, caught up in her unexpected cheerfulness.
"Princess, you seem… different today," Lyra ventured, her voice gentle, as she rinsed Seraphina's golden hair. "Happier, even. I daresay I've never seen you giggle quite like that."
"A fever, you know," Seraphina replied, a genuine smile curving her lips, "can change one's perspective. Everything feels so… vibrant now."
She leaned back, enjoying the feeling of being pampered.
"Tell me," she prompted, her tone light, "what else has changed while I was… indisposed?"
Elara, always more prone to gossip, leaned in conspiratorially.
"Well, for one, the Duke Thorne has been practically haunting the west wing. And you, Princess, used to dread even the mention of him. Said you'd rather marry a toad."
Seraphina shrugged, a playful spark in her emerald eyes.
"Perhaps I've had a change of heart. Perhaps the thought of a toad no longer frightens me."
She paused, then added—her voice a little softer, more earnest than she intended—
"I… I honestly can't wait to see him now."
The maids exchanged another look, a flicker of surprise, then pleasure. Her sudden compliance seemed to both puzzle and delight them.
Just as Lyra was carefully drying her and preparing to dress her in finery, the chamber doors burst open.
The air in the opulent room seemed to crackle.
Empress Theodora swept in—a woman of severe, regal beauty and an aura of absolute power. Her gown, a deep emerald velvet, rustled like dry leaves, and her perfectly coiffed dark hair was crowned with a tiara that glittered with cold fire.
Her relief at Aurelia's awakening was evident, but it was overshadowed by a clear, palpable exasperation and thinly veiled anger. She bypassed the fussing maids, her gaze like polished ice as it fixed on Seraphina. She did not embrace her. She remained stiff, imposing
.
"Aurelia," the Empress stated, her voice like fine crystal—sharp and brittle.