Chapter 2: "Wrong Body, Wrong Life"

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.

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