The sheets smelled faintly of damp and dust.
For a moment, I held my breath, not from fear, but confusion. The ceiling above me was cracked and low, the single window barred and grimy. The pillow beneath my head was lumpy and worn, barely enough to soften the hard wood beneath.
I didn't know this room.
But the ache in my chest pressed down hard, the scream I never released, the flash of headlights, the cold that swallowed everything.
And then silence.
I touched my face. My fingers were thin and cold. My skin was too pale, almost ghostlike. My hair
White strands tangled and dull, spilled messily over the rough pillow.
"...What the hell," I whispered.
My voice wasn't mine either. Softer. Brittle. Haunted.
A cracked mirror hung crooked on the far wall, catching just enough light to reflect the girl lying in bed.
Her clothes were faded linen, wrinkled and fraying at the seams. Not noble. Not clean.
But I was wearing them.
"I'm dreaming," I said, but the words didn't sound convincing.
I had died. I remembered that much.
And now I was someone else.
The door creaked open.
A maid stepped in, her expression dull, almost annoyed. She didn't bow. Didn't smile. Just set down a chipped cup of water and turned to leave.
"Get up, Lady Aurenne," she muttered. "You'll want to be useful today... even if no one cares."
The name didn't belong to me either.
But from this moment forward, it would.