The Next Morning
Selene woke in a bed so soft it felt like a lie.
Silk sheets. Feather-stuffed pillows. The air smelled faintly of rose oil and something sweeter—lavender, maybe. Not the cold, dry scent of the neglected west wing she remembered from the novel.
Someone had even replaced the heavy velvet curtains with airy, pale ones that filtered the morning light like a dream.
She sat up slowly, blinking blearily.
There was a knock at the door. Not the hesitant, slow kind from yesterday—but firm, confident.
"Enter," she said.
The door swung open instantly.
Three maids bustled in with practiced precision. One carried a tray of breakfast—steaming tea, warm rolls, sliced fruit arranged like art. Another held a selection of robes and shoes. The third had a hairbrush, ribbons, and a lace-edged mirror.
"Good morning, Lady Selene," they chorused, heads bowed.
Selene blinked. "Did I… ask for all this?"
"No, milady," said the first maid cheerfully. "The Count ordered that your needs be anticipated. We were instructed to act accordingly."
The second maid added quickly, "If anything is not to your liking, we'll replace it at once."
She hesitated. "...Do you even know what I like?"
The third maid flushed. "We're, um, still refining that part. But we've brought a few options—just in case."
Selene leaned back against the headboard, eyeing the tray. "So if I asked for lemon water flown in from the Southern coast, a panther for a pet, and silk slippers from the Imperial tailors...?"
"We'd do our best," said the first maid without missing a beat.
Selene snorted. "Well. At least you're honest."
As they helped her dress and do her hair—gentler than she remembered, quieter somehow—she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Pale skin. Glossy hair. Crimson eyes.
She tapped her chin. "Have any letters arrived for me?"
"None this morning, milady," one maid said.
Selene blinked at the maid's answer, then let out a dry laugh.
"Ah, right. I've been pronounced dead for a while."
The maids exchanged uneasy glances, unsure if they were allowed to laugh. One of them cleared her throat instead.
"Milady, the Count has requested to take breakfast with you this morning."
Selene arched an eyebrow. "Breakfast. With me?"
The maid nodded. "He's already in the dining hall."
Selene almost asked if he usually dined alone. Then she remembered—of course he did. Cold and untouchable. But perhaps yesterday had cracked something deeper than she realized.
—
**Dining Hall**
The room was quiet when she arrived, but not empty.
Count Ambrosia stood by the window, already dressed in formal black, a porcelain teacup balanced delicately in his gloved hand. He turned the moment she stepped in, his gaze sharp—but not unkind.
"Selene," he said simply, with a nod. "Good morning."
"Father."
They sat opposite each other at the long table, though the spread between them was modest—likely downsized from its usual austere formality to something more personal. She noticed the tea blend was one she actually liked. Strange.
After a long moment of sipping in silence, he spoke.
"I've decided to make it public."
Selene tilted her head. "Make what public?"
"That you are alive." He met her eyes. "I will not allow this house to act as if you are a ghost. The court, the nobility, the empire—they will all know. My daughter has returned."
She set down her teacup. "Do whatever you want."
He gave her a measured look. Then, almost too casually, he added, "Also… today is the Duke of Arvendale's promotion celebration."
She blinked.
"I was invited," he went on. "But I had no intention of attending. After all, it was meant to be the day of your funeral."
Selene's hand stilled over her plate.
A long pause. And then—
"I know," he said slowly, "you still like him."
She met his gaze, steady and cool.
"No," she said. "I don't like him. Not anymore."
She picked up her fork, slicing through a piece of fruit. "I let go."
He watched her for a beat longer, as if waiting for her to falter. But she didn't.
He nodded once.
"Good."
Count Ambrosia's eyes narrowed just slightly as he spoke, the weight of his words lingering in the air.
"So, as a way of announcing you're alive…" he said, his voice steady but still carrying an edge of something unfamiliar, something softer, "I would like for you to accompany me."
Selene's gaze remained unbroken, her expression neutral but with a glint of mischief flickering in her crimson eyes. She took a deliberate moment to set her fork down, her fingers brushing the plate with delicate precision.
Then, without a hint of hesitation, she smiled—bright, unassuming, and just a touch sly.
"Yes, of course, I will accompany you."
Count Ambrosia's brow twitched at the words, but his composure remained intact. There was no anger, no frustration in his response—just a quiet, thoughtful pause.
"Very well," he said finally, pushing back his chair and standing. "We will leave by evening."
Selene nodded silently, and the breakfast continued in a comfortable, even quiet, rhythm. The warm tea soothed her throat, and the soft clink of porcelain cups against delicate saucers filled the air. The Count didn't press her for further conversation, as if granting her the space she needed—something that felt... strange but not unwelcome.
As the last of the meal was finished, he excused himself with a quick nod.
"You'll find your dress for the event is prepared in your quarters."
She only nodded in reply, her eyes already drifting toward the window.
The Count left, and Selene rose from the table shortly after and headed to her room.
That afternoon...
Selene made her way toward the garden. The cool air was refreshing against her skin, the vibrant greens of the roses, lilacs, and vines surrounding her creating a peaceful yet slightly surreal atmosphere. She breathed deeply, her steps slow and deliberate as she wandered through the blossoms. Her fingers brushed lightly against the petals, and the golden sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows across the cobblestone path.
She stopped in front of a rosebush, looking at the delicate buds just beginning to bloom.
*I do not need that Duke's affection,* she thought, her gaze distant. *Nor the chance to clear my name, or anything else... I just want one thing, and that is the heroine's daughter... why is that?*
Her hand lingered near a white rose, its petals fragile like porcelain. The thought hit her unexpectedly— She was just a character—just ink and imagination. But when Selene looked at her, it wasn't fiction she saw. It was a child she had once held, lost, and now, in another form, found again.
She let out a quiet breath, pacing back and forth along the path. *When she was introduced in the novel, the moment she was born, I... couldn't help but feel the need to protect that little bundle of joy. Now I have the chance to see her... I don't care about anything else...*
A small, unexpected smile tugged at her lips as she walked slowly toward the fountain. *If I could become her mother as well, then...*
She paused, fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the water. *Ah, what am I thinking? Her mother? Seriously?*
The idea was ludicrous. Her mother? No—she was no longer the woman in the novel who lived and died for someone else's affection. She was someone new, someone who had been given a second chance at life, and she had her own path to carve.
Yet... a strange warmth settled in her chest at the thought of that little girl.
---
Selene shook her head, dismissing the thought. Focus, she told herself. The main reason why I even accepted attending this party was to save her. She is doomed to die by this evening. Once I save her, I can go back to living a peaceful life.
The afternoon seemed to stretch endlessly before her as she prepared for the evening event. Her mind was heavy with thoughts of the Duke's daughter, of the tragedy that would unfold if she didn't intervene. The party, with all its glamour and glitter, would be the perfect stage for tragedy to strike—but Selene wasn't about to let that happen.
Once in her room, she found the dress that had been prepared for her—a stunning deep purple gown that shimmered like starlight, its bodice adorned with delicate silver lace that glinted with every movement. It was beautiful, but as she stared at it, something felt... off. She didn't care about appearances anymore, not really. But she would wear it because it was expected of her, because tonight wasn't about her, but about saving the life of a child who had no place in this cruel world.
She sighed, standing before the mirror as she adjusted the gown. Her reflection stared back at her—pale skin, dark violet hair, and those unnerving crimson eyes.
As she finished preparing, she caught a glimpse of the time. It was almost time to leave. She straightened herself, taking one last look in the mirror before exiting the room.
The Duke's daughter would live.
Even if Selene had to burn the whole ballroom to make it so.