Halea Tffn was a force to be reckoned with—fiery red eyes gleaming under the glow of crystal chandeliers, her long burgundy hair perfectly styled to cascade over her shoulders like liquid silk. Dressed in a striking crimson gown that hugged her form, she moved through the ballroom of Velasia Towers with the confidence of someone who knew every eye in the room was on her.

The gala was in full swing, the chatter of the elite blending with the soft notes of the live orchestra. Halea had delivered her opening speech earlier, effortlessly charming the crowd with her wit and poise, earning waves of applause. Now, she sipped champagne at the edge of the room, watching the display of wealth and power unfold before her with an almost detached amusement.

Cassian, her manager, pushed through the crowd, his clipboard clutched tightly in one hand. "Halea, I swear, one more minute of you avoiding the spotlight and my blood pressure might actually explode," he said, his tone exasperated but familiar.

Halea smirked, swirling her champagne glass lazily. "Relax, Cassian. This is the part where they admire me from afar. It builds the mystique, you know?"

"And who told you that? Was it someone who understands marketing—or one of those poets you keep quoting to mess with me?"

Olivia joined them, a clipboard-less but no less focused presence. She gave Halea a knowing glance. "He’s only halfway to a meltdown. That’s a record for tonight."

Halea laughed softly, a sound that seemed to catch even more attention from those around her.

Leo, standing silently near the entrance with his ever-calm demeanor, kept his watchful gaze trained on the crowd. He didn’t need to say anything to make his point—he rarely did.

"Fine, fine." Halea sighed dramatically. "One more round through the adoring masses and then I’m calling it a night."

But she didn’t make her usual elegant circuit around the room. Instead, as soon as she spotted an opportunity—a small group of guests distracted by a conversation—she slipped toward the back exit.

---

The city greeted her with its familiar hum of energy, the streets gleaming from a light drizzle. Halea’s burgundy BMW waited in the private garage, untouched and pristine. She climbed in, the scent of leather wrapping around her like a comfort she didn’t realize she needed.

As the engine purred to life, she let herself relax for the first time that evening. There was no plan, no audience, no Cassian’s endless scheduling—just her and the open road.

She drove through the quieter streets of Celestara City, neon lights flickering against the rain-slicked pavement. The rhythmic hum of the engine was oddly soothing, and Halea found herself smiling faintly, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel as she left the noise of Velasia Towers behind.

Velure Avenue stretched ahead, promising solitude. Halea pressed her foot lightly on the accelerator, her heart light in a way it rarely was.

---

And then it happened.

Her phone buzzed on the console, Cassian’s name lighting up the screen. With a soft scoff, she glanced at it for barely a second—a second too long.

Something darted across the road—a stray dog caught in the faint glow of her headlights.

Halea gasped, wrenching the wheel to avoid it. The tires screeched as the car swerved violently, sliding across the wet asphalt. Metal crunched against an unyielding surface. Glass shattered, raining around her like broken starlight.

Her chest heaved as pain radiated through her body, her vision swimming. Faint voices echoed, distant and distorted.

"Halea! Halea, stay with us!" Cassian’s voice, sharp with panic, reached her ears.

"She’s losing consciousness—get help!" Leo’s calm control cracked slightly, urgency creeping into his tone.

"Halea, don’t close your eyes!" Olivia’s voice trembled, a rare sign of her composure breaking.

Halea tried to speak, tried to move, but the darkness closed in too quickly.

---

The next thing she felt was pain—a dull, relentless ache pounding in her head. Slowly, she stirred, her breath unsteady. The scent of unfamiliar lavender drifted toward her, and as she forced her eyes to open, an elegant and unfamiliar ceiling came into view.

Her surroundings were strange, the finely carved designs in the plaster unlike anything she had ever known. She blinked, trying to make sense of it.

"Mama?"

The voice startled her. Small, hesitant, trembling.

Halea turned her head, her fiery red eyes meeting the wide, tear-filled gaze of a little boy standing beside the bed. He clung to her arm as though she might disappear if he let go.

"…Wrong girl, kid," she muttered dryly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Try again."

The effort was too much. Her consciousness faded once more, and everything went black.

Halea woke to the soft rustling of curtains and the unfamiliar scent of lavender mingling with the faint fragrance of dried flowers. Her fiery red eyes fluttered open, taking in the intricate designs carved into the wooden beams of the ceiling. She froze as the memory hit her—the soft, trembling voice of a little boy calling her “Mama” and those tear-filled black eyes paired with silky, jet-black hair.

This was still the same place. She wasn’t dreaming.

Her temples throbbed, and she groaned softly, pressing a hand to her head. The weight of her arm felt strange, heavier than it should. Before she could gather her thoughts, a maid rushed in, her face a mix of worry and relief.

“Lady Halea! Oh, thank heavens you’re awake,” the maid said, curtsying low before hurrying to her bedside.

Halea stared at the young woman—her neatly braided hair, her plain but well-fitted uniform—and wondered why she looked so relieved. Before she could ask, the maid spoke again.

“Your head must still hurt. The doctor said it’s to be expected after your fall,” she explained, carefully adjusting the pillows behind Halea.

“Fall?” Halea echoed, her voice raspy.

“Yes, my lady,” the maid replied earnestly. “You fell from a horse while learning how to ride. Everyone was so worried. Master Teonido and Mistress Fuvy have been checking on you constantly.”

“A horse…” Halea muttered under her breath, blinking as the pieces refused to fit together. She could barely walk in heels, let alone mount a horse.

Her gaze drifted downward, and that’s when she noticed her reflection in a polished mirror on the far wall. Burgundy hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft waves, and those familiar fiery red eyes stared back at her. But the dress—oh, the dress—was something else entirely.

A stiff corset hugged her waist, and the elaborate gown, bursting with yellow and pink floral patterns, practically screamed “antique picnic.” The fabric was thick, layered, and covered in intricate embroidery that looked like it had taken years to complete.

She grimaced. As a model, she had worn her fair share of extravagant outfits, but this? This was a crime against fashion.

“Do people actually wear this on purpose?” she muttered.

The maid blinked, confused. “Pardon, my lady?”

Halea shook her head. “Nothing. Just… wondering how anyone washes something like this without needing divine intervention.”

---

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall. A man’s authoritative voice called out, and moments later, the door swung open to reveal Teonido Dayrith, the man who was supposed to be her father.

He was tall and imposing, with sharp features and an air of someone who commanded respect without needing to raise his voice. Behind him trailed Fuvy, her stepmother, whose overly sweet demeanor barely masked the sharpness in her eyes.

“Halea,” Teonido said, his tone a mix of relief and sternness. “You’re finally awake.”

Fuvy stepped forward, her hands clasped together in feigned concern. “You gave us quite a scare, my dear. Falling from a horse—what were you thinking? You know you’re not strong enough for such things.”

Halea blinked, struggling to process their words while keeping her growing irritation in check. “Right… I’ll try not to… fall again,” she replied awkwardly.

Teonido’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly. “Your manner of speaking has changed.”

“Well, I did fall off a horse, didn’t I?” Halea shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Fuvy gasped softly, pressing a hand to her chest as though Halea had just committed some great offense. “Teonido, do you hear how she speaks? Perhaps the fall affected more than just her memory…”

“Memory?” Halea cut in.

“Yes,” Teonido said, crossing his arms. “The doctor suggested that your strange behavior and unfamiliar words might be a result of temporary memory loss. You would do well to focus on recovering instead of… whatever nonsense this is.”

Halea’s jaw clenched. They thought she had memory loss? That was convenient. She could work with that.

“Understood,” she said tersely, eager to end the conversation.

---

After they left, Halea tried to piece together her situation. It was clear that nobody suspected the truth—that her soul, consciousness, or whatever had somehow been transported into this body. To them, she was still Lady Halea Dayrith, the daughter of a highly respected nobleman.

But if she was the lady of the house, why did she feel like a stranger in her own home?

Her musings were interrupted by a sudden knock at the door. Leanzie peeked inside, his black eyes wide with hesitation. “Mama?”

Halea sighed, waving him in. “Come on, kid. Let’s get this over with.”

The boy ran to her bedside, clutching a small wooden toy in his hands. He looked at her like she was the center of his universe, and it made her chest ache in a way she didn’t understand.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asked quietly.

“Mad? No. Confused? Absolutely,” she replied, brushing a stray lock of black hair from his face. “But that’s not your fault.”

Leanzie’s face brightened. “Does that mean you’ll play with me later?”

“We’ll see, kid,” Halea said, ruffling his hair.

---

As the day went on, Halea couldn’t help but notice the odd looks she received from the servants. Whispers followed her wherever she went, and she overheard snippets of their conversations.

“Do you think the fall affected her mind?” one maid asked another.

“She keeps saying such strange words,” the other replied. “Perhaps she’s… touched in the head now?”

Halea groaned inwardly. “Touched in the head?” Was this the medieval equivalent of calling someone crazy?

But she couldn’t let their opinions bother her—not when she had bigger mysteries to solve. Like why she was here, who—or what—had put her in this body, and how she was supposed to survive in a world that didn’t make sense.

As she wandered through the halls, lost in thought, a voice called out to her.

“Lady Halea,” a familiar tone said.

She turned to see Juvianna, her younger half-sister, standing at the end of the corridor. Juvianna’s emerald green eyes glinted with thinly veiled disdain as she approached. “I’ve heard some… amusing things about you today.”

“Amusing?” Halea repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Something about ‘divine intervention’ and ‘fashion crimes,’” Juvianna said with a smirk. “You’re giving the maids quite the gossip material.”

Halea smirked back. “Well, someone’s got to entertain them. You’re clearly not up to the task.”

Juvianna’s smile faltered, but she recovered quickly. “Careful, sister. You wouldn’t want people thinking you’ve lost your mind completely.”

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her skirts swishing dramatically behind her. Halea rolled her eyes.

“Great. A stepmother who hates me, a half-sister who thrives on drama, and a kid who thinks I’m his mom. What could possibly go wrong?”

The answer, she knew, was probably everything.

Halea's POV

Morning crept into my chamber like an unwelcome visitor, dragging the remnants of my restless thoughts into the daylight. I groaned softly, pulling the blanket tighter around me as though it might shield me from the second day of this bizarre noble existence.

“Lady Halea?” The soft knock at my door was followed by an equally timid voice. “Mistress Fuvy and Lady Juvianna are preparing to leave for the boutique. You’ll need to get ready, my lady. We are to select dresses for the Majesty’s birthday celebration at the Sylvaris Palace.”

Of course. A morning of judgmental stares and forced civility with my mother and sister. What could be better?

“Come in,” I muttered reluctantly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

The maid entered cautiously, her arms steadying a tray of tea and fruit with practiced precision. Her quiet demeanor caught my attention—delicate, almost fragile. Yet as she placed the tray on the bedside table, my curiosity won over.

“Wait,” I said, narrowing my gaze. “What’s your name?”

Her cheeks flushed as she glanced up at me. “M-my name, my lady?”

“Yes, your name,” I repeated. “Unless you prefer I keep calling you ‘maid.’ Frankly, that feels like a disservice to us both.”

“It’s Viary, my lady,” she whispered, barely audible.

“Viary,” I repeated, savoring the sound. “A fitting name for someone so… careful. I’ll try not to forget it this time. No guarantees, though.”

Her lips twitched into a small smile. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Good,” I said, gesturing toward the bath. “Now, shall we begin the morning’s grand production?”

Viary prepared the bath with precision—warm water, fragrant oils, the works. I slipped into the water, letting the heat soothe my thoughts even as the absurdity of this elaborate process gnawed at me.

“Viary,” I said, watching her adjust a towel nearby. “Is all of this truly necessary? I mean, surely I’m capable of washing myself.”

She froze mid-motion, her cheeks pink. “M-my lady… it’s tradition for nobles to be cared for. You are important, and it’s an honor to serve you.”

“Important, am I?” I mused. “Well, let’s pretend I believe that. Though honestly, all of this feels a bit excessive. Do nobles here ever do anything for themselves?”

“It… wouldn’t be proper,” she said softly.

“Tradition and propriety,” I muttered. “Ever the twin rulers of this world. Very well, carry on, Viary. You’re doing marvelously.”

After the bath, Viary helped dress me in layers of heavy fabric—an ordeal that could rival any battle. The final blow came with the corset.

“Viary!” I exclaimed as the laces tightened uncomfortably. “Are you trying to fold me in half?”

She froze instantly, her hands trembling. “F-forgive me, my lady! I didn’t mean to—”

“—compress me into oblivion?” I interrupted.

Her face turned an alarming shade of pink. “I-I’ll fix it immediately.”

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Snug is fine, Viary. Let’s avoid suffocation, shall we?”

“Yes, my lady,” she whispered, loosening the laces with care.

The boutique was everything I’d expected—overwhelming and underwhelming in equal measure. Dresses lined the walls, each one louder and gaudier than the last. I felt my patience dissolve as Juvianna chattered beside me, my mother’s sharp gaze lingering wherever I turned.

Ignoring them both, I approached the counter. “Do you have fabric?”

The shopkeeper nodded and began pulling out an array of rolls—each one more offensive than the last. Patterns so busy they hurt my eyes, colors clashing in ways that felt almost aggressive. I resisted the urge to grimace outright.

Then, amidst the chaos, something caught my eye. A deep burgundy fabric, silky and soft. It wasn’t perfect—it had patterns, but they were understated, simple. Compared to the monstrosities surrounding it, the burgundy fabric felt like a treasure.

“This one,” I said firmly, reaching for the roll.

The shopkeeper blinked at me in surprise, glancing from the burgundy fabric to the garish ones still piled on the counter. My mother and sister, of course, wasted no time expressing their confusion.

“Halea,” Mother said sharply, her tone laced with disapproval. “You’ve never shown interest in sewing before. Why fabric?”

I glanced at her over my shoulder, a cryptic smile tugging at my lips. “People change, Mother. Perhaps I have, too.”

As I paid for the fabric, a faint sense of satisfaction settled in my chest. Finally, something that was mine—a choice I had made entirely for myself.

Just as I turned to leave, the boutique door opened, and a chill ran down my spine. A man entered, tall and shrouded in an air of mystery that made the room feel suddenly smaller. His piercing eyes scanned the shop, lingering briefly on me.

“Lady Halea Dayrith,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying a weight that made the air thrum with tension. “I believe this is not the first time our paths have crossed.”

I blinked, caught off guard. The words felt familiar, yet foreign—like the echo of a memory I couldn’t place. Before I could respond, he gave a slight bow and walked past me, disappearing among the rows of fabric.

“Who was that?” Juvianna whispered, her voice tinged with curiosity and something close to fear.

I didn’t answer. My mind was already racing, questions swirling like a storm. *Not the first time? What did he mean?*

Clutching the burgundy fabric tightly, I followed Mother and Juvianna out of the shop, but my thoughts lingered on the man’s enigmatic words. Whatever had just happened, I had the distinct feeling that this was only the beginning.