The morning sun poured softly through the tall arched windows of the dining hall, painting golden streaks across the polished mahogany table. Sunlight kissed the silver cutlery and delicate porcelain dishes adorned with blue and gold filigree. The scent of warm bread, herbs, and sweet berry jam lingered in the air.
Seraphine Evandale—formerly Lissa, a skateboard-loving girl from a completely different world—sat hunched over her plate like a starving soldier, tearing into a roasted sausage roll with bare fingers. Crumbs flew, and a glob of jam stuck to her cheek, unnoticed. She munched noisily, sipping from a heavy silver goblet that was clearly not meant for juice.
Across the table sat Elric Damasque, her personal knight and assistant—or, as she suspected, her reluctant babysitter. Dressed in a sharp black doublet with crimson trim, his short, swept-back silver hair reflected the morning light like polished steel. His face was calm, yet his silver-gray eyes flicked with careful observation. Always watching.
Sera set her fork down with a clatter, narrowing her eyes at him.
"Elric."
"My Lady?" he responded coolly, slicing his bread into neat halves.
"What am I?"
A pause.
"I mean…" she leaned back, resting an arm against the chair with a faint scowl, "what did she—I—do before I ended up here? You act like you believe my story, right? About the reincarnation thing? So what was the old me like?"
Elric blinked slowly, then smiled—too softly.
"You were… annoying, My Lady."
Sera stared. "Annoying?"
"Very loud," he added with a nod.
She squinted, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. "Am I really?"
"You are now, too." He took a careful sip from his teacup.
She shot him a look of mock betrayal before returning to devour a piece of meat with absolutely zero elegance.
Elric watched, arms folded neatly on the table. That posture, that appetite, he thought. She truly has changed. Either the reincarnation story held some truth… or Lady Seraphine had developed a disturbingly convincing second personality—one that lacked all trace of nobility.
His gaze lingered on her face—freckled, slightly sun-tanned, with expressive hazel eyes that no longer carried the ice of her former self. Her once razor-sharp speech had softened into sarcasm and unfiltered commentary. This version of Seraphine laughed, grumbled, questioned everything, and seemed—oddly—human.
Later, they strolled through the east garden, a sanctuary of roses and wild lavender. Marble statues stood tall beside trimmed hedges and arching trees. Birds chirped somewhere up high, and the scent of fresh earth mingled with sunlight.
Sera walked with a limp of annoyance. Her violet dress shimmered in the light, tight around the waist and heavy with layers of lace and embroidery. She pulled at the corset strings at her side.
"Do people here breathe through their spines or something?" she muttered, nearly tripping over the hem. "I feel like a cursed curtain."
Elric stood nearby, arms behind his back, lips twitching upward. "It suits you."
"It suits suffering," she shot back, exasperated. "Give me pants and a hoodie any day."
The two shared a quiet laugh. A moment of peace.
But then, a question struck her.
"Hey… Elric," she said, stopping near the marble fountain in the center of the garden.
His eyes met hers. "Yes, My Lady?"
"Where are my parents?"
The breeze froze.
The chirping birds seemed to hush, as if the very air listened.
Elric's eyes widened for a brief second before he masked it with a casual smile—too casual.
"You killed them," he said, like he was announcing the weather.
Sera blinked.
"…What?"
Elric nodded, calm as ever. "You were twelve at the time, Your Grace. You don't remember?"
Her chest tightened. "Wha—what do you mean me? Me?! Elric—Elric what the hell are you talking about?!"
"You don't have to shout, My Lady."
"No!" she stepped forward, fists clenched. "How can you say that so casually?! What kind of person just says that like that?! Why?! Why did I—Why would I ever do that?!"
The garden was no longer a paradise. The sun felt distant, and the flowers had turned into still, staring witnesses.
Elric didn't speak at first. The weight of her words—and her panic—hung between them like a guillotine.
Finally, he said, "You… didn't want to talk about it. You forbade me. Strictly."
His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed a shadow of hesitation. In his mind, the memories were clear. He had seen her then—twelve years old, blood on her dress, silent and smiling like a shattered doll. The Seraphine of before had buried that day so deep, she'd threatened to tear out the tongue of anyone who ever mentioned it.
But now?
This Seraphine, with messy thoughts and messy eating habits, who tripped on her own dress and cursed under her breath—this wasn't the same girl.
Could it be true? Elric thought. Had she been reincarnated?
Or had her soul split in two?
Either way… the memory was a trigger. And it had just been pulled.
Sera's chest heaved. Her eyes were wide, too wide. Her voice cracked.
"Why… won't you answer me?"
But Elric said nothing more.
And that silence broke her.
She turned and stormed off through the garden path, the heavy skirt dragging behind her, her fists trembling at her sides. The scent of roses was now suffocating. Her mind spiraled.
No. No, that's not me. That couldn't be me.
She didn't look back.
Elric remained in place, staring after her as the wind rustled the leaves.
He whispered, "I'm sorry, My Lady."
But it was far too late.
When Sera returned to the Vaelthorne mansion, an ache lingered in her chest.
Why did it hurt?
She couldn't tell if the pain was her own... or if it belonged to the original Seraphine. The words Elric had said—that she killed her own parents—kept echoing in her head. But if she truly felt hurt hearing that... why would she do it? Was it guilt? Remorse? Or was Elric lying?
As she walked past the candlelit halls, her thoughts spiraled.
"What really happened to this girl? What kind of person was she before I got here? Was she really that cruel?"
The polished marble floor reflected the chandeliers above. The crimson velvet curtains danced with the wind coming from the open windows. The portraits on the walls—noble and grand—stared down at her as if judging her confusion. She felt small.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed behind her.
"My lady," Elric called, voice calm but cautious. "We have a visitor."
Sera turned her head. "A visitor?"
"A priest from the capital," he said. "He requested to see you. You… know him, my lady. He says you have things to discuss."
Her brow furrowed. Why would a priest visit a duchess like me?
She nodded silently and followed him.
They arrived at the receiving chamber, a formal space lined with bookshelves and tall glass windows that painted golden light across the room. At the center, seated patiently on a cushioned wooden chair, was an elderly man.
He looked ancient—his long beard snow-white, his eyes sunken, and his wrinkled hands gripped a wooden staff. His white priestly robe flowed around him like a relic of time. His presence was like a whisper from the past.
Sera stepped into the room.
But something changed.
Her curiosity drained. Her heart felt heavy—but her expression hardened.
As she sat down across from the old man, her red eyes sharpened into something cold, almost inhuman. Her body straightened like royalty, chin raised in disdain. She looked at the priest as if he were not even worth the chair he sat on.
The priest noticed it instantly.
He scowled.
"I will no longer tolerate your actions, woman," he spat, not even calling her duchess. "I came here out of duty, but I no longer carry any respect for you."
Sera didn't flinch.
"You were meant to protect the people of this kingdom," he continued, "yet you act as a tyrant. Cruel. One of your former maids came to me—her hands gone because of you! How could you do such a thing?! She cannot even feed herself anymore!"
His voice echoed through the room.
But Seraphine's eyes narrowed, lips curling into a slight, amused smirk. She leaned slightly forward, her voice cold.
"She failed her job," she said. "That was her fault. She deserved what she got."
The priest's jaw dropped in disbelief. "Cutting off a hand for a mistake?! No woman would do such a thing unless she was cra—"
CLINK!
The sound of porcelain shattering cut him off.
Seraphine had thrown her teacup directly at his face. Tea splashed across his robe. The cup rolled onto the floor and shattered.
"How dare you raise your voice at me," she said, eyes glowing with fury. "You're just an old, withering priest."
Then her tone dropped, darker.
"Do you want to die here?"
The priest froze.
"I could slit your throat," she whispered, "and no one would ever know. No one would dare question it."
The room fell into deadly silence.
The priest swallowed, his wrinkled hand shaking. This woman... she's insane. He stood up, heart pounding in his chest.
"If you have nothing else to talk about aside from that useless maid," she said coldly, "get out. Leave this place before I really lose patience."
He staggered back, nearly tripping over the carpet. Without another word, he turned and walked away, the air behind him thick with the presence of death.
As he exited the mansion, the priest thought bitterly, One day… someone stronger than you will come. And you'll be put in your place.
---
Inside the chamber, Seraphine's eyes remained locked on the door he left through.
"Elric," she called.
He stepped in.
Her head turned toward him slowly. Her tone was sharp, dangerously sharp.
"I told you never to let that old rat step foot in this mansion again," she hissed. "Do you not understand that?"
She stood up from the couch, picking up a golden pen from the table and twirling it between her fingers.
"Do you want me to stab that pretty face of yours again with this?"
Elric lowered his head immediately, expression unreadable.
"I… I'm sorry, my lady. I deeply apologize."
But in his mind, something unsettled him.
She changed.
The moment she saw the old man, she turned into someone else. Her eyes, her voice… her presence—everything shifted.
Then, just as quickly, she softened.
Her shoulders relaxed. Her brows furrowed with confusion. Her crimson eyes blinked slowly like waking up from a daze.
Sera, the girl from another world, looked down at her hands.
"What just happened…?" she whispered. "Why did I say those things…?"
Her heart pounded in her chest.
"No. No way…"
Her hands trembled.
"Is the real Seraphine… still inside me?"