She stumbled into the street, the cool night breeze brushing against her skin and whipping strands of hair across her face. Weak, hungry, and exhausted, she could barely stand. Her last few coins had gone into the café earlier that evening and it was just for a brief escape, a cup of coffee, and the comfort of her favorite novel which had unfortunately made her homeless.
She had some savings back in her room, but they were locked away in her room, and Miss Vanessa had refused to let her take a single thing. Now, all she had left in the world was her worn copy of Romance in the Five Empyrean States, that is the only piece of her life she could still call her own.
Eventually, she found a park and sank onto one of the long wooden benches. Pulling the novel close, she opened it at random page and her gaze landed instantly on Grant Castiglione's golden eyes. It was page thirteen, where his full-length sketch filled the paper: a tall man cloaked in black, his gaze is both fierce and glacial.
Her eyelids suddenly grew heavy as she stared at him. The night's silence deepened around her, wrapping her in its arms. Sleep crept in quietly, and she slumped softly against the bench, the book still clasped in her hands.
The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was Grant Castiglione's golden gaze and the faint curve of a smirk, a dialogue bubble over his head that said, "It's showtime."
It suddenly felt comfortable. Her lying position. Her back pressing into a soft layer. Her head digging into a soft texture. This couldn't be the bench in the park, would it? She thought to herself.
A gentle tap on her face and a muffled, "My lady?" follows thereafter.
The tap was consistent, their voice urgent as they kept on tapping her. She cracks her eyelids open gently, her gaze instantly settling on the figure hovering over her, tapping her.
They are dressed in a uniform of white and grey. Their black hair tied up in a neat bun.
"Who are you?" Daphne says weakly, frowning at the figure.
The woman frowns at her in return, the small creases forming in her face a testament of impending old age.
"My Lady, you are late." She whispered, gaze pinned on Daphne.
Then, it dawned on her, she wasn't in the Park. She was in a bedroom. Daphne immediately jerked up, chest heaving with panic as she looked around her surroundings.
Where was she? Where is this place?
The bedroom is times five the size of her own bedroom at Miss Vanessa's. It was an interior of blue and white. Everything around her was in either blue or white colour. Starting from the bed where she laid which was white, it's sheets blue, some of the pillows blue and the blanket white. Then, the walls painted in white satin, a corner covered entirely in blue. Then, the four pillars around her that surrounded the queen-sized bed area with curtains of blue and white designs tied to the pillars. Then, the foot mat. A large door that had a mirror stood by the far left of the room. The door is slightly left ajar and she saw clothes peeking from within. It was certainly the closet.
Then, finally, the blue and white three-seater couch by her right.
She swallowed, confusion clawing at her chest.
The white and golden double-doors right before her suddenly jerked open, five women in the same uniform as the woman that woke her up sauntering in, their heads bowed low. One of them carried a bowl of water, another carried a white towel, another carried a blue box, the woman that appeared to be the youngest amongst them had a royal blue dress draped on her arm.
"My Lady, we have to hurry. It is almost sunset, we will be late."
Late for what? Why was she a Lady? Where was she??
"Uhm... I-I think this is a dream. Let me go back to sleep." Daphne announced but as she began resting her head back, the woman yanked her back up and out of bed, hurling her towards a door in a corner that she hadn't noticed.
However, as the woman hurled her along, Daphne saw a glimpse of her appearance from a reflection and stopped in her tracks.
She gaped.
She had a white night dress on but that wasn't what had caught her attention. It was her long, black hair, dangling behind her. She brushed a hand over it gently.
"W-what is my name?" Daphne asked the woman.
She frowned at first. "My Lady? It's Daphne. Now we need to go."
"Daphne what?"
The woman let out a sigh of impatience. "Daphne Whitmore, daughter of the fifth Empyrean King. Now, let's go get you prepared!"
Daphne froze instantly, her focus no longer on her reflection. She turned around slowly. "What did you just say?"
"I said we need to get your prepared—"
"No, not that." Daphne interrupted, her world turning blank. "The one before."
"Daughter of the fifth Empyrean King?"
"Yes, exactly. Empyrean? As in The Five Empyrean Cities?"
"My Lady, are you drunk?"
"Just answer my question."
The woman nodded.
She turned back at her reflection. "That is impossible." Daphne says, chuckling at the ridiculousness.
"What is?"
A knot tied in her stomach as a question formed in her lips. This was what might confirm it all.
"V-Varyn Nightbourne, is he...?"
"Son of first Empyrean King? What about him?"
Is this some sick joke?
"Yiwa Locke?"
The female lead...
"Right. The Governor's cousin? Why are you asking after all these people, what exactly is going on—?"
Right. The Governor. Her greatest nightmare.
Here it goes...
"Who is the Governor?" Daphne asked, expecting the final nail on the coffin with the impending answer.
"Grant, My Lady. Grant Castiglione. And your soon-to-be husband."
Blur. That was all she saw.