"Princess Clara? The king requests your presence."
The maid's knuckles wrapped against the polished wooden door once more, her voice carrying the usual reverence reserved for royalty.
Before she could reach for the handle, however, the door creaked open with hesitant slowness.
Claire appeared in the doorway, her movements stiff, almost rehearsed.
She cleared her throat with an exaggerated cough, as though trying to convince both herself and her audience of her frailty.
"C-could you tell the king I'm… not feeling well?" she murmured, her tone wavering. "I'd like to rest for the time being."
The maid's brows knitted in concern, her grip on the tray she held tightening. "Are you certain, Your Highness? Shall I fetch the physician to examine you?"
Claire shook her head quickly, a little too quickly. "No, no, I'm fine. Really. I—I just need a little more sleep, that's all."
"If you insist, Princess… but I must inform the king of your condition." the maid replied, bowing her head in dutiful submission.
"Yes. Please… do." Claire's voice softened with relief as she dismissed her.
The maid dipped into a low bow, her skirts sweeping the marble floor before she departed, her footsteps fading into the grand silence of the palace corridors.
Only when the latch clicked shut did Claire let out a shaky sigh.
She pressed her back against the heavy door, feeling the cool wood against her skin as if it might anchor her to reality.
Her heart drummed wildly in her chest, a reminder that this was no dream she could easily wake from.
"Alright… let's get this sorted out first." she whispered, her words tumbling from her lips in a half-panicked mantra.
She pushed herself upright and crossed the chamber, her gaze drifting over the room that was both unfamiliar and extravagantly ornate.
Velvet drapes framed the windows, Gilded mirrors and oil paintings of ancestors she did not recognize stared down at her with accusing eyes.
"I'm trapped..." she muttered under her breath, her voice cracking slightly, "inside this Princess Clara's body… whoever she is."
The admission tasted strange, like a secret too heavy to swallow.
Her hands fidgeted at her sides before she forced herself toward the elegant writing desk by the window.
"If Clara was a princess, surely she must have left behind some trace of herself, something that could explain this impossible situation..."
"Maybe a journal… or a diary..." Claire reasoned aloud, as though the sound of her voice could keep the panic at bay.
She pulled open the first drawer, her fingers trembling as she rifled through parchment, quills, and seals, desperately searching for something that could tether her to an explanation.
Claire's restless hands finally landed on something promising at the back of the drawer, a slim, leather-bound book, its cover worn soft at the edges from frequent handling.
Gold leaf letters, almost faded from touch, formed the delicate inscription: "Clara's Journal."
Her breath hitched. "Bingo."
Carefully, almost reverently, she lifted the diary and placed it on the desk.
The faint scent of pressed flowers clung to the pages, as though the princess had once tucked blooms between them to preserve fleeting memories.
Claire hesitated, guilt nibbling at the edges of her conscience.
This was someone else's private world, after all.
Yet if she was to survive in this borrowed body, she needed to know who Clara truly was.
She opened the first page.
A neat, elegant script flowed across the parchment, every curve of ink betraying the grace of a princess taught from birth to write flawlessly.
"Today Clarence left once more on another royal mission. The court says it is necessary for his preparation as heir to the throne, but I cannot help feeling the emptiness of his absence. He speaks of distant kingdoms, of seas that shimmer like jewels and mountains that pierce the heavens. How I envy him. Were I not bound by duty and expectation, I too would journey beyond these palace walls. To see the world...that would be my greatest joy."
Claire's eyes lingered on the words, her heart unexpectedly tightening.
This Clara wasn't merely some pampered noble draped in silk and jewels, she was a girl who yearned for freedom, who dreamed of skies and horizons that stretched beyond the gilded cage of royalty.
Turning the pages, Claire devoured more of Clara's thoughts.
Entry after entry painted the same longing.
Sketches of foreign landscapes described in vivid detail, copied from Clarence's letters; pressed petals from flowers the prince had sent from distant lands; and notes scribbled in margins about the people Clara wished she could meet merchants from the desert caravans, sailors from northern seas, scholars from kingdoms across the ocean.
Claire could almost hear Clara's voice through the diary, curious, wistful, tinged with loneliness.
"So… Princess Clara is someone who longs for the world but has never stepped beyond these walls." Claire whispered, tracing her fingers over the faded ink.
"She wanted freedom… and I…" Her voice trailed off as realization struck.
She, Claire, the outsider had always chased her own independence, carving her path against life's expectations.
Now, fate had thrown her into the body of a girl who craved that very thing most.
Flipping further, Claire stumbled across another entry that stood out.
"Gabriel promised that when he becomes king, he will grant me the freedom to travel. Until then, I must endure. I only hope Father understands… though he seems ever more insistent on arranging my future within these walls."
Claire's pulse quickened.
There it was...
The conflict.
Clara wasn't just dreaming idly, she was trapped in a web of duty, her desires dismissed in favor of political arrangements.
"Gabriel… her brother." Claire leaned back in the chair, staring up at the high ceiling as though answers might be carved into the frescoes. "So he's the one she admires. The one she leans on."
A faint smile touched her lips despite the situation. "At least she had someone who believed in her dreams."
But the smile faded as Claire shut the journal gently, her reflection flickering back at her from the gilded mirror across the desk not her reflection, but Clara's.
The princess's soft features, framed by golden curls, gazed back at her with emerald eyes that weren't hers.
She pressed her hands flat against the desk to steady herself. "Alright, Clara. I guess it's my turn to carry your life… until I figure out how to get mine back."
Claire sat in silence, her fingertips lingering on the diary's soft leather cover.
Clara's words echoed in her mind like a forgotten melody, each entry resonating with a strange, aching familiarity.
Her lips parted in disbelief. "She's just like me…" she whispered.
"A girl who loves to explore the world... She sounded like me..." The weight of the revelation pressed against her chest, forcing her to steady her breathing.
It wasn't mere coincidence.
Clara's longing mirrored her own with uncanny precision, as though the diary had been written from her very soul.
And then, like a whisper in the back of her mind, the memory of the letter resurfaced
the one she had found before everything turned upside down.
'Your wish was granted. Second chances are not meant to be wasted.'
The words struck her now with terrifying clarity.
Her heart pounded as her gaze fell once more upon the diary, her reflection in the gilded mirror watching her with foreign, borrowed eyes.
"What if...?"
"No…" she breathed, a tremor running through her. "It can't be…"
But the pieces fell into place, inevitably as the pull of gravity.
The wishes she had made in her old life.
The aching similarity between her and Clara.
The unexplainable twist of fate that had thrust her into this body.
She wasn't just trapped in Princess Clara's form...
She was Princess Clara.
Not reborn by chance, but returned by fate, given another chance to change everything, to rewrite her life.
Claire's hands trembled as she held the diary closer to her chest, her throat tightening.
A shiver ran down her spine, equal parts awe and dread.
"So… this is my second chance..." she whispered, the truth both exhilarating and suffocating. "I was Clara… in my past life."
Her knees felt weak, but a strange determination began to burn within her.
If she truly had been granted this second chance, then wasting it was no longer an option
Her second chance…
But then, like a spark flaring in the darkness, another thought seized her.
If she had been given this chance to return... Maybe he's also here?
Her breath caught. "Aiden…"
The name trembled on her lips, fragile yet burning with hope.
Aiden, the man she had loved so fiercely, the person she treasured the most...
The one she had lost, whose memory haunted her every waking moment...
If she had been brought to the past then perhaps...
Just perhaps...
He must exist in this world too.
Her eyes widened, tears threatening to spill. "Maybe… he's here too."
The idea surged through her like fire, chasing away her earlier fear and replacing it with a dangerous, aching hope.
If Aiden existed somewhere in this life, she might find him again.
She might save him from the cruel fate that had once torn him away from her.
Her trembling fingers brushed over Clara's handwriting, and in that moment it no longer felt like the diary of a stranger, it felt like the echo of her own soul calling her forward.
"This is it!" Claire whispered, her voice unsteady yet resolute. "I was brought back for a reason. Not just for me… but for him. This time, I can change everything. This time, I can save Aiden."
The diary pressed tightly against her chest, she closed her eyes, determination blooming inside her like a rising sun.
Somewhere in this kingdom, in this life, Aiden was waiting whether he knew it or not.
And she would find him.