As I stood surrounded by the most powerful people in the kingdom arguing over me, I wished more than anything that I’d just stayed in bed that day and missed my doctor’s appointment. The $50 cancellation fee would’ve been nothing compared to this.

An ironic thought crossed my mind—I was like that character in one of my favorite cartoons as a kid; every time his class ended up going on a magical field trip he always lamented “I knew I should have stayed home today!” as they left.

Me too, kid. Me too.

My life got turned upside down on an ordinary Tuesday. I sat scrolling through comics on my phone in the waiting room of yet another doctor’s office.

It was my third visit this month, not counting the biweekly physical therapy appointments I had to go to for my back, neck, and shoulder pain.

Why was a twenty-three year old woman going to the doctor so often? Well, I’d been a bit of a medical mystery for the past five years.

I started getting dizzy, having constant stomach aches, migraines, and all-over pain my freshman year of college. Despite being on seven different medications and going to the doctor more than a dozen times per year, they still hadn’t quite figured out everything that was going on with me yet.

I barely managed to graduate college working around my various health crises and, being a millennial, couldn’t find a half-decent job without going back for more school. I had friends in grad school—from what they told me about the workload, my body would not survive.

So I took a part-time job as the “librarian” (they couldn’t technically call me that since my degree wasn’t in library science but for some reason they hired me anyway) at an elementary school and tried to work my doctor’s appointments around my schedule as best I could.

It wasn’t hard work at all but even the minimal effort of being at the school six hours a day took a toll on my already poor health.

The majority of my time was spent cooped up in my studio apartment, devouring book after book (though I occasionally shook it up by bingeing a new TV show or watching documentaries). Fiction was so much better than reality! Or so I thought at the time.

“Katie Pullman?” a nurse called from the door. That was my cue.

Hopping out of my chair with a wince—my knees really don’t allow for hopping—I closed my comic about a girl who found herself inside the world of a novel and shoved my phone into my pocket.

After taking my height, weight, and blood pressure, the nurse asked the standard question: what brings you in today?

“My primary care doctor wants me to get tested for autoimmune disorders,” I said dully.

She’d already tested me for just about everything else and said her hands were tied. My pain was honestly unexplainable by any of the usual culprits.

“Do you have your referral with you?”

I nodded. “I gave it to the woman at the front desk when I checked in.”

The nurse smiled at me. “I’ll go check on that later. Would you please follow me to the lab?”

Ah, the lab. I’d been to a bunch before and they all looked roughly the same. As I thought. The usual reclining chair with a table on it used when drawing people’s blood wasn’t too far from the door.

My blood had been drawn enough times to know the drill.

I obediently sat in the chair and didn’t put up a fuss, politely requesting that the seat be leaned back so I wouldn’t get as dizzy. No matter how many times I got stabbed with one, I just couldn’t get used to needles!

Squeezing my eyes shut before they even pulled the needle out was the only way I ever survived these sorts of things. It hurt, but it was the sight of the needle that made me most woozy.

The nurse removed the needle and told me to stand up slowly when I was ready. I got up quickly. I still needed to go to the library and check out the books I had on hold about flora of the southwest before crashing for the day.

Cacti are more interesting than you might think. Small succulents already lined the windowsill in my apartment but I wanted to know more in case I ever managed to afford a real house with space for a garden out front.

The woman at the check-out desk told me my results would be in 7-10 days from now. I thanked her before adjusting my purse strap and heading out the door.

It was a beautiful Arizona day. Blindingly sunny, blue skied, and so hot you could feel your skin melting. I couldn’t wait for school to get out for the year so I could just stay in my air-conditioned apartment all summer.

My beat up old car roared to life as I turned the key and the brake light came on instantly. It had been like this for the past two days but I hadn’t had time to take it to a mechanic yet because of work. I was planning on doing it over the weekend.

A catchy song I knew most of the words to came on the radio so I sang along as I drove onto the freeway ramp. The library (and my apartment) was on the opposite side of town from the clinic.

This was my biggest mistake.

About ten minutes into my drive, the car in front of me slammed on its brakes. Of course, I slammed on mine too but my car was old. The brakes gave out.

The wheel spun out of my control and despite my seatbelt, my limbs flew around like a ragdoll’s as I hit the barrier on the side of the road before the car kept spinning and everything went black.

“Lady Catherine, are you alright?” an unfamiliar voice asked worriedly.

Straining to open my eyes, a hazy figure dressed in a plain brown dress straight out of those period dramas my sister Abby and I used to watch hovered over me.

“Where am I?” I croaked.

My throat was unexpectedly hoarse but even so, my voice didn’t sound like it usually did when I was sick.

“You’re in your bedroom, my lady.”

My bedroom? I blinked a few times before looking around. This looked nothing like my apartment. Again, it looked like something out of a period drama.

Was someone playing an elaborate joke on me? I wouldn’t put it past Abby but she was attending college across the country.

So…was this just a dream then? Alright, I’d bite. My best friend in high school was really into lucid dreaming for a while and told me all about it—if you’re aware you’re in a dream, you can control it.

“Uh…this may be a dumb question, but where exactly is my bedroom? This house I mean…where is it?”

The woman appeared startled. It must’ve been a dumb question even in Dreamland.

“Why, the earldom of du Pont of course! Don’t tell me the fever caused you to have amnesia?”

I latched onto that explanation in the hopes the dream lady would give me more information.

“It must have,” I said feebly, acting sick as I could even though I felt great. Better than I could remember feeling since before college, actually. Must be dream power at work.

“Please do tell me more about the earldom and my family.”

The woman looked less uneasy than before. I guess that explanation worked pretty well.

“Your father, the Earl of du Pont, is in charge of all the land from the forest at the edge of the property up to the lake on the other side. It covers about one hundred acres in total.

“Your mother, Countess du Pont, was the daughter of a viscount. You have two older brothers, Percival and Edmund, and a younger sister named Adele. Does this help, my lady?”

Not one bit, but thanks for trying. “It does a little. Thank you…um…what’s your name again?”

“Marie, my lady. I’ve been the nanny for this house since Percival was born.”

“Thank you, Marie. I’m actually feeling much better now so could I go outside?”

Being stuck in bed, even a fancy bed with a canopy, during a dream was too boring. I spent more than enough time in bed for real. I wanted to see if I could fly or something since I could control the outcome of this dream.

“Oh no, my lady, you only just woke up!” Marie fretted. “You’ve been asleep for three days. I must tell the Countess you’re awake, she’ll be so pleased.”

I wanted to protest but let her go. If she was gone, I could leave the room after she did. Once Marie left, I tiptoed towards the door, passing a mirror on the way out.

Dream Me looked a lot different than Real Me. Katie Pullman’s eyes were a boring shade of hazel concealed behind thick glasses and her hair was limp mouse brown. Lady Catherine looked like a blonde blue-eyed china doll with curls down to her waist wearing an overly frilly nightgown.

Interesting. I’d always been jealous of Abby’s blue eyes and my dream character’s were even bluer than hers.

Creeping down the hall, I drank in the sight of the manor. After getting into those period dramas, I read up as much as I could about things like family crests, nobility lineage, and 19th century European architecture and decoration styles.

The nerdy part of me was curious how accurate the costume and set departments actually were. This house looked like the real deal. My imagination was quite impressive.

I could explore the inside of the house a bit longer before making it outside to try flying, right?

I continued wandering from hall to hall, occasionally spotting a maid or two working in the rooms I passed. The rooms here were so large and ornate. Better than any movie setting I’d ever seen.

I began to grow uneasy. My imagination definitely wasn’t this good. I couldn’t come up with something this elaborate on my own.

“Catherine! What are you doing out of bed?!” a male voice sounded from behind, making me flinch.

“It was boring in there,” I stammered, still jumpy from the scare.

The man in front of me looked to be around twenty and had the same blue eyes I did though his hair was light brown. He must be one of the brothers Marie mentioned.

He moved closer to examine me. “Well, you do look alright…but still, Marie is going to burst a blood vessel if she finds you here. Come on, let’s go to the library.”

I took care to follow his lead since I had no idea where the library was. Which one was this…Percival or Edmund? I didn’t want to gamble because my suspicion that this wasn’t a dream was growing.

Vague recollections of what happened were flashing through my head. I got into a car accident on the freeway while going 75 miles per hour.

Either this was a crazy dream I was having in the hospital or…I didn’t want to think about the alternative.

My heart sunk when we reached the library even though it was the most beautiful room I’d ever seen in my life.

I recognized that flag hanging above a mounted shield with what appeared to be the du Pont family crest. It was the flag for the fictional nation of Annalaias from this fantasy novel I’d once read. Impossible.

My unidentified brother caught me staring and smiled.

“Admiring the flag? Our great-great-great grandfather was given that flag by King Alpheus II in gratitude for his service in the war. He was given that flag and the earldom as a reward.”

My knees wobbled and I sank onto the nearest chair.

King Alpheus II of Annalaias was the man that the male lead of this novel was named after.

Third prince Alpheus Randolph McLeod, the love interest of the Cinderella-esque main character, Marcy Grandin—a bakery worker whose craft was praised highly enough for her to get a position in the palace.

This couldn’t be happening to me. I went on a binge a while back when I bent over and threw my back out so I couldn’t move for four days where I read nothing but transmigration comics. And now I had transmigrated myself.

Unbelievable. Unbelievable! Had I really died in that car accident?

“Catherine?” my brother asked with concern. “Are you still feeling ill?”

“I must be,” I said weakly. “Brother, could you please bring me some water?”

“Of course. I’ll return shortly.” He patted my head affectionately before striding out of the room.

I died…I died on my way back from a doctor’s appointment…what a horrible way to die! I’d hardly lived at all! Most of my living was vicariously done through fiction!

Abby…she was the only family I had left. I didn’t socialize much…who would they call about my body? Would anyone go looking for me after I didn’t show up for work?

I wanted to cry. What a pitiful end for a loser and a shut-in.

Although…my body here is strong. Despite supposedly recovering from an illness, I felt better than ever. No back pain. No dizziness. No difficulty walking or a constant desire to crack my neck that was never fully relieved.

I could do anything I wanted here! I could run! I could ride a horse!

I could possibly even teach myself to do a backflip like Abby could on a trampoline! If they even had the concept of a trampoline here…

By the time my brother came back, I was revitalized. If I was stuck here, I was going to actually go out and live my life better than Katie Pullman had. But first…I needed information on this world.

The novel largely focused on goings on in the palace as Marcy tried to overcome corruption on the staff and protect Alpheus’ interests. I couldn’t even recall if anybody in this fictional family was even mentioned by name. If I was going to fit into the nobility, research was necessary.

My brother came back to find me pulling as many books off the shelves as I could muster. “What are you doing?”

“I feel much better now and wish to do a bit of light reading.”

He eyed me distrustfully. “You call this light? You’ve never been all that interested in father’s books before.”

Crap. I had no idea what Lady Catherine du Pont was like. I’d need to observe people as much as I could without asking around outright.

I gave him a demure smile. “One realizes their priorities after an illness. I would like to enrich myself. Can you recommend me any books on the history and culture of Annalaias, brother?”

And just like that, I had an accomplice.

***

My brother, who I later found out was Percival (Edmund was off at boarding school), was a huge help in the following weeks. History, culture, and the estate were his expertise since he was the heir and had already completed school.

He appeared stiff on the surface but that was only because he took his duties so seriously. He had a sweet side and doted on his younger sisters.

Between Percival and Adele (a carbon-copy who idolized her big sister) I was able to realize what kind of personality the original Catherine had. She was a sweet but mischievous creature forever interested in everyone else’s business.

I could pull that off…probably.

Countess Amelia du Pont was most helpful in learning how a noble lady should act. Everything she did was the epitome of grace.

I watched her and copied her every move when in the company of others, as the estate frequently had visits from the countess’ lady friends and their daughters. None of them were characters I recognized, meaning they weren’t significant to the story.

Where in this world did the earldom fit in anyway?! Everything I’d read about the nobility pointed towards a British-style system—earls were only ranked below marquises, dukes, and those of royal blood.

Shouldn’t the family of an earl show up somewhere in a story about royalty? It didn’t make sense to me.

But this could be a good thing. I didn’t want to get caught up in the intrigue of the plot. Even as an earl’s daughter…could I just live my life in peace without getting married off?

That was my main worry being here. Everything else, though not what I was used to, was pretty nice.

I adored horseback riding and surprisingly had an aptitude for it. I’d sucked at sports back home. I rode every day with Percival, occasionally joined by the earl (who was usually too busy to see his family).

I had countless tea parties with delectable little cakes with the countess and her entourage.

Though some of the neighboring ladies were catty, it was kind of fun playing along with them since I knew what to say from everything I’d ever watched and read involving nobility. My responses angered some but overall I was praised for having a rare wit.

Life here wasn’t so bad after all. I certainly missed wifi and fried food but there was enough new information to absorb here that I didn’t get too bored.

The manor seemed endless and Adele and I spent lots of time exploring, pretending we were adventurers seeking a rare treasure. It reminded me of the games I used to play with Abby, which made me miss her, but what could I do? I was dead.

I just hoped she was okay without me…we usually texted or called at least every other day. Abby…please be alright…