The room unfolded in soft light, vast yet intimate. Ivory walls traced with golden flowers glowed beneath heavy violet curtains, their folds spilling onto polished wood. Each step stirred a faint creak, as though the chamber itself remembered every presence within it.
At its heart rose a canopy bed draped in pale satin, cushions embroidered with silver threads catching the dawn. The bedside table bore the marks of life unposed: an open book waiting mid-thought, a glass half-filled with yesterday's water, a ribbon abandoned as if it had slipped from careless fingers.
By the tall window, a mahogany desk commanded the space. Its surface lay buried under scattered pages—some neatly stacked, others crushed in frustration. A typewriter rested in silence, its worn keys stained by endless hours of thought, while at its feet, a basket overflowed with rejected drafts.
A gilded mirror leaned against the wall, catching fragments of light, duplicating the disorder into something almost theatrical. Not far from it, a dressing table stood crowded with perfume bottles, silver brushes, and a string of pearls forgotten in haste, like secrets left half-spoken.
In a quieter corner, a velvet armchair waited beside a stack of books and a blanket folded with careless tenderness, as though it still carried the warmth of evenings spent reading by candlelight.
The air itself carried a paradox—refinement woven into imperfection, nobility touched by the intimacy of disarray.
On the bed, she stirred. Strands of golden hair spilled across the pillow, catching the glow of morning. Slowly, her blue eyes opened, heavy with the weight of dreams, lashes trembling in the half-light. A stray curl brushed her lips, stubbornly resisting her return to waking.
She stretched, and the satin slid from her shoulders, unveiling the slender grace of her frame. Around her, the room seemed to lean closer, each detail a reflection of her presence—the books waiting, the perfumes lingering, the unfinished pages silently demanding her return.
The morning pressed gently against the curtains, flooding the chamber with warmth. And in that fragile instant, the duality of her world revealed itself: order and chaos, duty and desire, nobility and the raw intimacy of life unfolding quietly in her breath.
She groaned softly, brushing away a lock that tickled her lips.
"Mm… just five more minutes…" she whispered, pulling the blanket close again.
With a slow gesture, she sat up, rubbing her eyes still heavy with sleep. Straightening, the cover slipped down her shoulders, baring her delicate arms. Her tousled blond hair fell across her face as she leaned to grasp her cream-silk dressing gown. Wrapping it around her carefully, she tied it at the waist, then slipped down from the bed, cautious not to wake the polished floor that creaked lightly beneath her steps.
Crossing the room, she cast a distracted glance at the cluttered desk: crumpled papers littered the ground, a silk ribbon slipped from the drawer, and the silent typewriter seemed to wait patiently for her return. She paused before the tall oval mirror, sketching a faint smile at her half-closed eyes and unruly strands, but turned quickly away, too eager to fully awaken.
She reached the adjoining bathroom, its door framed with golden moldings, and opened it onto a bright, fresh space. White tiles and marble gleamed in the morning light, filling the air with shimmering clarity. Approaching the porcelain sink, she found a pitcher of fresh water waiting. Dipping her hands into its icy coolness, she splashed her face delicately, the chill stirring her senses awake.
Her golden hair clung to her cheeks, damp in places, while the water left her with a feeling of purity and renewal. Her blue eyes opened wider now, bright and alive, reflecting the daylight with crystalline clarity. Droplets slid across the marble, vanishing almost instantly, as if to remind her of the fleetingness of this peaceful moment.
Catching her reflection in the ornamental mirror, she froze.
"Is that really me? …Ah… I could have said so if I had just reincarnated today. But no, my reincarnation began at birth…"
A bitter sigh escaped her lips, heavy with disappointment. Her blond hair hung scattered and tangled, her half-lidded eyes shimmering weakly in the morning glow. Running a hand through her hair, she muttered, half-joking:
"I look like a child who fought her sheets…"
Tilting her head, she forced a smile at her reflection.
Back in her room, she pulled apart the heavy curtains and stood before the window. Sunlight flooded the chamber, magnifying her presence: her long blond hair flowed in silky waves along her back, catching the rays as though woven from gold. A rebellious strand slipped against her lips, lending her an unstudied charm.
Light caressed her face, still fresh from the touch of water. Her blue eyes, wide open now, gleamed like precious stones wet with dew, reflecting the garden below.
The estate's garden stirred in harmony: white pearls of dew upon the leaves, gravel paths lined with hedges, the marble fountain at the center casting gentle sprays of water into the morning sun. Yet it was not the garden itself that held the gaze—it was how it seemed crafted as a setting for her, as though all this beauty existed solely to frame her presence.
As she lingered in the light, a soft sound broke the stillness. A figure entered quietly behind her: her servant, her faithful companion of everyday life.
The young woman wore an elegant uniform of sober black cloth, brightened by a white apron embroidered with bluish floral patterns. Delicate details—the dark lace at her collar, the blue ribbons tied at her chest and woven in her hair—betrayed both the refinement of the household and her own careful attention to appearance. Her long silver hair, almost luminous, flowed freely down her back, crowned with flowers and tiny blue roses that gave her a radiant air.
She advanced with a sincere, almost childish smile and bowed lightly out of habit. Yet her movements were natural, free of rigidity. More than a servant, she seemed a devoted companion.
"Hello, Evelyra," she said with familiar warmth.
In the great mirror that reflected them, the contrast of ages was striking: two young girls—one dressed in noble richness, the other adorned with refined simplicity—yet both radiant in their youth. Their closeness did not rest only on the bond of mistress and servant, but on an almost sisterly complicity, as if they shared an intimacy that neither rank nor etiquette could erase.
The servant stepped further into the room, her sparkling eyes sliding immediately to the mahogany desk. The sight drew an amused sigh: the typewriter buried under sheets, the basket overflowing, and crumpled papers scattered across the polished floor.
"You worked all night again on your book," she said in a tone both reproachful and affectionate, stooping to pick up a poorly thrown draft. "If I didn't take care of you, this room would have turned into a ruined library…"
The young noble she called Evelyra lowered her gaze slightly, a guilty glimmer flickering in her still-drowsy blue eyes.
"Maybe…" she murmured with a faint smile.
"Maybe? Look at this!" the servant replied, waving a crumpled paper between her fingers. She laughed softly, then tossed it into the already full basket.
Speaking lightly, she set to work with practiced ease. She gathered the scattered pages methodically, her long silver hair brushing the ground as she leaned. Usable sheets went neatly on the desk, rejected drafts into the basket, the quill and inkwell placed back beside the typewriter as if restoring order to its chaos.
Still smiling, she turned toward the bed where the satin blanket had slipped into soft disorder. She shook it out, smoothed it carefully, and arranged the embroidered cushions one by one. Each gesture was precise, but her tender expression betrayed more than duty—she was watching over her.
The atmosphere of the room shifted gradually, night's disarray giving way to morning harmony. In this quiet ballet, their complicity was reflected: Evelyra, elegant and contemplative, radiated calm; the servant, brimming with youthful energy and devotion, filled the silence with her luminous presence.
When the last cushion was set, the servant straightened and looked at her mistress, tilting her head with a smile.
"Very well. It's time to prepare yourself. Today you must shine as brightly as the rising sun."
Without waiting, she opened the carved wardrobe and drew out a carefully pressed midnight-blue outfit: a fitted jacket with golden buttons, paired with a sober yet elegant skirt. On a hanger hung black leather boots and a matching beret, lending the whole an air of noble authority tinged with military sharpness.
Evelyra submitted with calm ease while the servant adjusted each piece with expert care. She closed the jacket buttons, ensured the collar sat perfectly, then tugged the sleeves straight.
"Stand tall… there," she whispered, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction.
She stepped back to admire her, then immediately returned to smooth a rebellious lock of blond hair. A dark blue ribbon secured it in place, and the beret was tilted just so, giving Evelyra a presence both graceful and commanding.
Finally, she smoothed the skirt, checked the boots fit snugly, and pinned a small golden star-shaped brooch to her chest—a subtle yet radiant touch.
"There… you are not just beautiful. You are ready to be seen, respected, admired," she said in a voice half-playful, half-serious.
In the mirror, Evelyra appeared transformed: still luminous, but now wrapped in an imposing aura—between noble grace and the dignity of authority.
The servant returned with more accessories in her arms, smiling gently as she bowed.
"Let me help you," she said softly, as naturally as breathing.
She draped the jacket on her shoulders, adjusted the folds, tightened the belt with practiced fingers, and pinned a freshly polished golden badge to the front.
"This will give you more presence," she whispered, smoothing the sleeves until they fell perfectly.
"Always so meticulous…" Evelyra replied with a discreet smile, her blue eyes softening at her.
"This is my role, after all. And… it would be a shame not to honor such beauty."
A faint blush rose on Evelyra's cheeks, quickly hidden beneath her usual composure. The servant, unbothered, added one last touch: a dark scarf slipped neatly beneath the collar, lending strict elegance—ideal for affirming her status.
"There. You are radiant, ready to silence any room with your presence."
Evelyra turned slightly, sunlight glinting in her golden hair. In a soft voice, she said:
"You always do too much… but I suppose I couldn't do without you."
Now perfectly dressed, Evelyra lingered before the mirror. Her gaze seemed not to meet her own reflection but to drift far away, searching a past she would rather forget.
"I can't hold on much longer… becoming who I was before—it's tearing me apart," she whispered, her tone that of a wounded girl lamenting her fate.
Her voice trembled though her posture stayed proud. The servant, tidying a few stray papers, lifted her head quietly. She studied Evelyra in silence, lips pressed tight with unspoken sorrow.
Evelyra's fists clenched, her nails biting into her gloved palms.
"I lost everything that night… a friend, a soulmate… and part of myself. No matter how hard I work, no matter how strong I pretend to be… the weight is still there. Like a shadow that refuses to fade."
The servant froze, a crushed paper in her hand. She opened her mouth as if to answer, but no words came. Her heart twisted, but her tongue was heavy, unable to shape anything that wouldn't sound hollow or clumsy.
She lowered her eyes, crushing the draft tighter between trembling fingers. Her silence—awkward yet sincere—became her only answer.
The noble sighed, a fragile breath that echoed in the chamber. Her shoulders slumped slightly, and she turned her gaze to the sky beyond the window.
"Forgive me… you shouldn't have to hear that."
The servant clutched the paper harder, lips quivering. She longed to say "you don't have to bear this alone," or even a simple "I understand"… but no words came. She busied herself with tidying, praying silently that her quiet presence would be enough.
Evelyra let her gaze linger on the sky a moment longer before blinking back her tears. She straightened, forcing a faint smile.
"All of it… I cannot forget," she said, fists trembling.
The servant hesitated. "Evelyra, I…" but her voice broke, unfinished.
"Enough. Forget what I said," Evelyra cut in sharply, almost as though convincing herself. Her fingers brushed the embroidery of her outfit, clinging to the present. "Rather, let's see… I'll check my stats."
And with that, she turned her thoughts to her status table, seeking refuge in something tangible, as if numbers could offer a temporary escape.
Then, before Evelyra, appeared a violet-colored panel of statistics, framed with delicate flower patterns that seemed to have been drawn especially for her.
She let out a short laugh.
"My old panel was awful. " Let's change this sad expression into something brighter.
"Yet, if I allowed myself to drown in sorrow, I would never move forward. So, with a faint smirk that barely concealed the heaviness in my chest, I forced my thoughts toward something trivial—my so-called stats."
---
Name: Evelyra von Serathis
Race: Human (provisional)
Class: Noble
Level: 40
HP: 999999 / 999999
MP: 999999 / 999999
Strength: 10,000
Agility: 10,000
Endurance: 10,000
Magic: 10,000
Luck: 10,000
Unique Skill: [Divine Writer – Level 40 – Sealing in the Unreal]
Bonus:
– {Absolute Eyes} – Sealed
– {Domain of the Soul} – Sealed
– {Domain of Reality} – Sealed
State: Normal
Potential: Indecipherable
Additional Skills (390 sealed):
– Master Scholar – Lv.10
– Regeneration – Lv.10
– Analysis – Lv.10
– Interdimensional Storage – Lv.10
– Inferno – Lv.10
– Magic Absorption – Lv.10
– Eye of Truth – Lv.10
– Thought Acceleration – Lv.10
– Improved memory – Lv.10
– Physical Reinforcement – Lv.10
---
Her lips curved in a half-smile, her tone caught between irony and weariness.
"It looks like I'm more of a bug than a human…"
The servant, who had been watching in silence, crossed her arms.
"In any case, what I see are numbers that could make anyone dizzy."
Evelyra let her gaze linger on the panel a moment longer, then turned toward her with a delicate smile — soft, but fragile. A smile that clearly sought to bury her wounds beneath a mask of lightness.
"Tell me instead… have you had breakfast yet?"
The servant blinked, surprised by this sudden shift in mood. She hesitated, then answered quietly:
"Not yet. I was waiting for you to be ready."
"Then let's head to the dining room. Father is surely waiting for me as well." Evelyra's voice carried a firmer note now, though her eyes still betrayed the faint shadows of moments earlier. "The sun is already high… it would be a shame to let it slip through our fingers."
The servant nodded and quickly finished tidying up the last of the papers, neatly placing them in a corner. She knew Evelyra didn't want to linger on the subject, and though her chest still tightened, she chose to follow the new rhythm her mistress imposed.
The atmosphere in the room gradually lightened, as if the noble had, in a single breath, cut off the weight of her past and wrapped herself instead in the banality of daily life.
"Let's go, Katarina," Evelyra said softly, pushing the door of her room with deliberate gentleness.