Awakening of The Ballerina

Before she could gather her thoughts, the doors burst open with a loud bang.

“CHANTELLE, MY DEAR! YOU ARE AWAKE!!”

A man, dressed in extravagant royal attire, rushed toward her. Panic seized her as she turned her head, catching sight of herself in a grand mirror nearby. The reflection staring back at her wasn’t quite…human.

Her hair shimmered in an unnatural hue, one she had never seen in real life. Her eyes, though still mesmerizing, held an unfamiliar depth.

“This isn’t normal human hair color...” she whispered, horror creeping into her voice.

Just what kind of world had she entered?

The man, eyes brimming with tears, reached out and grasped her hand tightly. “Oh, my beloved daughter, you have returned to us at last!”

Chantelle’s breath hitched. Daughter? She looked at him again, noticing the same strangely colored hair cascading down his shoulders, the similar ethereal glow in his gaze.

Her mind reeled. If he was calling her his daughter, then that meant…

She slowly turned to her maid, her voice hesitant. “Hui… Where exactly are we?”

Before Hui could respond, another figure stormed into the room, clad in regal military armor, a sword glinting at his hip. “Father, has she truly awakened?”

The moment Chantelle locked eyes with him, her heart pounded. He was breathtaking, with sharp, aristocratic features and an aura of command. But unlike what a normal person might feel, Chantelle wasn’t particularly shocked. She had spent her entire life in the company of celebrities, from models to actors, all with stunning looks and overwhelming charisma.

For a commoner, this man would seem too perfect to exist, but to her? He was just another ridiculously good-looking person in an already surreal situation.

The man—her supposed brother—gazed at her intensely before smirking. “Finally, our dear little sister has returned to us. Welcome back to the Empire of Veylencia.”

Chantelle’s world spun. Empire? Veylencia? Just what had she gotten herself into?

After a long and elaborate explanation, she learned the shocking truth—she was not a princess but the daughter of the wealthiest Duke in Veylencia, a man who controlled nearly every sector of the kingdom’s economy. From the largest marketplaces to the most exclusive clubs, from weapon factories to high-end trade routes, her family’s power was unmatched.

She also discovered that her mother had long passed away due to illness, and Chantelle herself had been in a vegetative state for three years.

She soon found out that this world had magic, and those who possessed it were specially trained to fight monstrous creatures lurking beyond the kingdom's walls. Even more shocking—there was no concept of ballet or art as she knew it. Determined to change that, Chantelle decided to introduce the kingdom to her true talent. At a grand gathering, she performed ballet for the first time. The fluidity of her movements, the elegance of her form—it was unlike anything the people had ever seen. Whispers of awe spread. They did not simply see a dance; they saw a living masterpiece.

However, her sudden transformation did not go unnoticed. Some began to whisper—was she truly Chantelle Dupont? Or had someone else taken her place? Even the Crown Prince himself took interest in this strange woman who had defied all expectations...

Prince Harrison Théodore Bonaparte, known as Prince Harrison of Veylencia, was a man who commanded both admiration and fear. His golden eyes, sharp as a predator’s, missed nothing. He had grown up hearing about Chantelle Dupont—the childish, spoiled daughter of the Duke who often caused trouble at social gatherings. But now, she was an entirely different person. Graceful, intelligent, and strikingly composed.

It intrigued him.

At the next royal banquet, Chantelle was invited. It was an event hosted by the palace itself, meant to celebrate the kingdom’s greatest warriors—those with magic who had defended the land from the monstrous creatures that lurked beyond its borders. Chantelle, who had only recently awoken from her coma, was not accustomed to such events, yet she carried herself with a confidence that baffled those who once mocked her.

The grand ball was in full bloom, the orchestra playing a mesmerizing tune as nobles twirled in their extravagant gowns. Laughter and conversation filled the air, but one pair of golden eyes remained fixed on a singular figure—Chantelle Dupont.

Prince Harrison stood at the upper balcony, his gloved fingers resting lightly against the rail as he observed her. The rumors surrounding her change were everywhere, and he had come to see for himself. But what he hadn’t expected was to find himself so captivated.

She was stunning, yes, but it wasn’t her beauty that held him in place. It was the way she moved.

The ballroom had fallen into a hush when one of the noblewomen, the Duchess of Brigham, had stepped forward with a charming smile.

“Lady Chantelle, we have all heard of your unique style of dance. But we have never witnessed it ourselves.” The Duchess turned to the crowd. “Don’t you think it’s time we see it with our own eyes?”

A chorus of agreement rippled through the nobles, excitement lighting up their faces.

Chantelle blinked, taken aback.

In this world, her art—ballet—did not exist. Here, dancing was graceful yet structured, meant to display elegance rather than tell a story. But she had spent a lifetime perfecting her craft. If she was going to live in this world, then she would bring a piece of herself into it.

With a composed smile, she nodded. “If it pleases the court, I shall dance.”

The orchestra hesitated.

“There is no need for music,” Chantelle said, stepping forward into the center of the ballroom.

Murmurs of confusion filled the room. No music? What kind of dance required no accompaniment?

And then—she moved.

A single step forward, a gentle rise onto her toes. The fabric of her gown whispered as she glided effortlessly, her movements fluid as water, yet light as air. She leaped, twirled, spun in ways no one had ever seen before. Each motion was a story, every step filled with emotion.

The crowd watched in stunned silence.

The chandeliers above cast golden light against her silhouette, and in that moment, Chantelle Dupont was not just a noblewoman—she was a vision. An art form come to life.

Prince Harrison had never seen anything like it.

He had fought on battlefields, seen great feats of magic, watched warriors move with skill and precision. But this—this was something else entirely. She moved like she wasn’t bound by this world’s gravity, as if she was meant to exist somewhere beyond their understanding.

And for the first time in years, he felt something stir inside him. A strange, unfamiliar feeling.

Fascination.

But just as quickly as it came, he crushed it.

No one changes so suddenly.

This woman, this Lady Chantelle, was not the same person she had once been. That much was clear. But was she truly reborn, or was this all an elaborate act? He would not be deceived so easily.

Before he could ponder further, a knight rushed to his side and whispered something urgent in his ear. A complication in one of the kingdom’s lands required his immediate attention.

He cast one last glance at the dancing woman below.

Then, without another word, he turned and left.

As Chantelle finished her dance, the ballroom erupted into thunderous applause. She curtsied gracefully, though her mind was elsewhere.

During her performance, she had felt something—a sharp gaze piercing through her every move. She had caught him watching her from above.

The Crown Prince.

Why had he been observing her so intently? And why did he leave so abruptly?

A chill ran down her spine.

That man is dangerous.

She knew his type—calculating, powerful, the kind who could ruin lives with a single command. If she wanted to live peacefully in this new world, she had one option.

Avoid the prince at all costs.

She took a deep breath and steadied herself.

“Yes,” she murmured to herself. “From now on, I’ll stay far, far away from him.”

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