Pain.
Cold.
A strange silence.
Mallina's last memory was the sky swallowing her whole. Rain in her mouth. The taste of goodbye.
But now… now the air was warm. Still. Fragrant like roses and something softer.
Her lashes fluttered open.
She was no longer on the rooftop.
She was in a bed.
A bed too soft, too large, and too ornate to belong to any hospital—or reality.
She sat up slowly, her fingers brushing the silky sheets beneath her. They shimmered pale gold. The canopy above her was embroidered with silver threads that caught the morning light like falling stars.
Where… am I?
She looked around.
Cream-colored walls, carved with golden vines. Crystal chandeliers swaying gently overhead. A vanity table with perfume bottles and delicate brushes. And a window so wide it let heaven spill through.
She pushed herself off the bed and padded over, breath hitching.
Outside was a garden. Not just any garden—but a paradise. Roses in every color bloomed in perfectly shaped hedges. Swans glided across a marble fountain. A greenhouse glimmered at the far end like a glass palace.
This… this isn't Earth. This is a fairy tale.
Then she saw it.
The mirror.
Her own reflection.
And it wasn't her.
Gone were the tired eyes, the lifeless hair, the plainness she'd carried like a curse.
The girl staring back had porcelain skin and wide, shimmering eyes the color of morning dew. Her hair fell in soft waves down her back, a shade of peach-blonde like a summer sunset. Her lips were soft pink. Her face was so doll-like she looked unreal.
This isn't me.
She stumbled back, heart pounding.
Just then, the door opened.
A girl in a black-and-white uniform entered with practiced grace, curtsying quickly. "My lady! You're awake!" she chirped. "Thank goodness. His Grace, the Count, is awaiting you in the drawing room."
Mallina blinked. "The… what now?"
The maid didn't pause. She moved straight to the wardrobe, pulling out layers of ruffled skirts, lace gloves, delicate slippers.
"Come now, we mustn't keep the Count waiting," the maid smiled politely. "He's quite strict about punctuality."
"I—wait, Count? Who's the Count?! What's going on? Where am I?" Mallina stammered.
The maid only tilted her head, confused. "Why, you're at the Rosevine Manor, my lady. Surely you remember?"
She didn't. Not even a bit.
But the clothes were too beautiful to argue with, and the maid too persistent.
So, half-dazed, Mallina let herself be dressed like a porcelain doll. Satin skirts wrapped around her legs. A choker clasped gently around her throat. Silk gloves slid over her hands like whispers.
Then, she followed the maid through endless hallways—walls lined with portraits of noble faces, chandeliers that dripped with diamonds, floors that echoed with power.
This can't be real.
I was just… a girl. A nobody.
But now?
Now, she was someone.
She just didn't know who.
Mallina followed the maid through gilded halls until they stopped before a grand door, carved with roses and ravens.
The maid knocked once.
"Enter," came a voice—deep, smooth, but cold like stone beneath snow.
The door creaked open.
Sitting at the far end of the room was a man dressed in dark navy velvet, silver hair slicked back, eyes like steel behind a goblet of wine. The air around him was thick. Heavy. Like thunder waiting to strike.
He looked up.
And smiled.
"Ah, good morning… my lovely daughter, Rava."
Mallina froze. "Rava?"
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Daughter? What the hell?
He gestured to the chaise beside him. "Come, sit down, darling. You look pale."
She moved like a puppet, legs stiff, heart screaming.
She sat.
He leaned forward, wine swirling in his glass.
"So… tell me." His voice was a murmur now, velvet over daggers. "Have you found any new shards?"
Her brain stuttered.
Shards? What shards??
She forced a shaky laugh, too high, too fake. "Haha… Father, I beg your pardon. What are you—"
The Count's smile vanished.
"You haven't?" he snapped. The room seemed to darken. "What's the use of you if you can't even do that?"
Mallina flinched.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her voice shriveled.
The Count set his glass down with a sharp clink.
"Martha!" he roared.
A door to the side opened. A maid entered—tall, broad-shouldered, face carved with strict lines. Her eyes held no kindness.
The Count stood. "My darling daughter seems to have forgotten her purpose. Give her a little… reminder."
"Of course, Your Grace," Martha said with a curtsy, her tone devoid of emotion.
Mallina stood up so fast the chair toppled behind her. "Wait—I don't—!"
She didn't get to finish.
Martha seized her by the arm like iron.
"Let go!" Mallina cried, struggling.
No one came.
No one helped.
She was dragged through cold stone halls, down a spiral stairway, into a room of stone and silence. Chains clinked. A long whip hung on the wall like a sleeping serpent.
"No! Stop—what are you—?!"
Crack.
The first strike tore through her scream.
Her hands clawed at the air. Her knees hit the ground.
She cried, pleaded, begged.
But Martha said nothing.
Only did her job.
And the walls stayed silent.
Light filtered through the sheer curtains like a quiet apology.
Mallina blinked.
Her heart raced, her breath shallow.
Was it… a dream?
She sat up.
A scream bit her lips as pain lanced through her body. It felt like her bones were stitched with fire, her skin made of torn petals.
She looked down—and froze.
Bruises.
Dark, blooming bruises marked her arms, her legs, her ribs. As if the night hadn't been a dream at all, but a memory etched onto her flesh.
It was real.
Her breath hitched, hands trembling.
And then… the door creaked open.
A man stepped in.
Young. Brown-haired. Calm green eyes that held a strange softness. He didn't speak at first. Just walked slowly to her bed, knelt beside it, and took her hand with care that made her flinch.
He murmured something in a language she didn't know—words like wind, like waves, like the hush of feathers.
A warm glow flickered from his palm.
The pain ebbed. The bruises faded. Her skin cleared as if nothing had happened.
Before she could say a word, the man stood and left. Not a glance back.
Who… was he?
But there was no time to wonder.
The door flew open again.
This time, it was a maid—a girl with wide eyes, freckles, and trembling lips. She rushed to Mallina's side, tears already falling.
"My lady!" she gasped. "Oh, my lady! Are you alright?"
Mallina blinked at her.
Who… are you?
But she didn't say it out loud.
Instead, her voice came out hoarse. "Why… did the Count—I mean… Father—why did he do that to me?"
The maid's eyes darkened. Her lips trembled.
"Because… because you didn't find the shard, my lady…"
Mallina's heart stuttered. "Shard? What shard? What does that even mean?"
The maid blinked. "What, my lady?"
Mallina looked away, pressing her fingers to her temple. "I don't… I don't remember anything. You see, I—something's wrong with my head."
"Oh, my God…" The maid gasped, panic rising. "I should call someone—I should tell the Count! Or the doctor—"
Mallina grabbed her wrist, hard. "No! No. Don't tell anyone. Please. Just… keep it a secret. I need you to help me, okay? Just… tell me everything."
The maid hesitated.
Then she nodded. "Alright, my lady… My name is Clover. I'm your personal maid. I've served you since you were twelve. The Count… he's cruel, but he keeps you because…"
She bit her lip.
"Because you have the blood of Princess Tutu. You were born with it. And that means… you can sense the shards."
Mallina's brows furrowed. "Shards of what?"
Clover looked down. "The heart. The Crown Prince's heart."
Mallina's blood turned to ice.
Prince…?
Clover went on. "A long time ago, the Crown Prince's heart shattered into pieces and scattered across the land. Each shard holds an emotion. And you, Lady Rava—you can find them. That's why the Count wants you."
Mallina's voice was barely a whisper. "Why does he want them?"
"I… I don't know, my lady. I'm just a servant. I know nothing beyond that."
Silence hung between them for a breath.
Then Mallina asked, "Am I really… the Count's daughter?"
Clover froze.
Then shook her head slowly. "No, my lady. You are… his younger brother's child. Your parents died in a fire. The Count adopted you after. But…"
She hesitated.
"He's been using you ever since. You're… a means to an end."
Mallina looked at her hands.
So delicate. So clean now.
But her soul still bled.
This isn't my story. This isn't my body. But I'm in it.
Mallina sat frozen in her bed, Clover's words still echoing like ghost bells in her skull.
Prince's heart… shards… Princess Tutu…
"What can I even do?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "What even is this? A prince with no heart? A count using me? Princess Tutu?"
She stood up, wobbling slightly, still sore.
The words churned inside her like a storm threatening to break.
Princess Tutu… Prince… heart shards…
And then—
A thought sliced through her.
Sharp. Clean. Horrifying.
Wait.
She staggered back. Her hand shot to her mouth.
These names… I know them. Princess Tutu… the duck. The ballet. The girl who loved too deeply. The prince who lost everything. The girl who gave everything and was left with nothing—
"No…" Mallina trembled. Her knees buckled. She leaned against the vanity, gripping its edge so hard her knuckles turned white.
Her gaze lifted to the mirror.
And there—
There she was.
Peach-blonde hair.
Eyes like sapphire morning skies.
Skin too delicate to belong to someone real.
Just like… her.
She reached up slowly, touched her reflection.
"Am I… Princess Tutu?"
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Then she crumbled.
She dropped to the floor like a puppet cut from its strings.
"No," she whispered, voice shaking like the glass in her soul. "No. I'm not her. I can't be her…"
Tears pooled in her eyes. Cold, silent.
"I'm Mallina. I'm not some… tragic ballerina. I'm not a girl who turns into a duck. I didn't choose this. I didn't ask to be inside a story—"
But the mirror said nothing.
It only reflected a girl with a face not her own… and a fate she never agreed to.