The hospital room was steeped in silence, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the machines and the subtle rustling of the curtains, touched by the morning breeze. Sunlight seeped through a small gap in the fabric, illuminating Ophelia's delicate face. Her long blonde hair rested against the pillow, and her peach-colored lips were slightly parted in a peaceful breath. For a moment, she looked like a painting—untouched, serene.
Then, an abrupt notification shattered the tranquility, pulling her out of sleep little by little. Ophelia frowned, irritated. Who dared to interrupt her morning? With a resigned sigh, she reached for her phone on the nightstand.
As she read the notification, an unexpected gleam lit up her eyes. A new chapter of her favorite book had just been released. Her initial frustration faded, replaced by a nearly childlike excitement. She quickly sat up in bed and slid her finger across the screen, diving into the story as if drowning in a world that made her forget where she was.
*"I can't believe it! The protagonist really did that? How could she choose the cruel count over the only one who truly valued her? Unacceptable! Outrageous!"*
Her indignation grew, and her fingers were already seeking the comment section to express her outrage when, suddenly, a piercing pain tore through her body. The first stab was a warning; the second, a sentence. Her chest tightened, her muscles burned as if set aflame, and tears welled in her eyes before she even fully grasped what was happening.
This pain—this cursed morning pain—was worse. Much worse.
Ophelia froze. Her heart pounded in desperation. What did this worsening mean? Had her time finally come?
A knot of panic formed in her throat as she stretched a trembling hand toward the emergency button. A doctor appeared, adjusting the dosage of her medication, but the pain did not subside. The suffocating sensation intensified. Her chest squeezed.
A second later, everything faded into a blur.
Filled with regret, she felt the cold darkness wrap around her body, like an implacable veil that silenced even her final thoughts.
Ophelia blinked several times, trying to adjust her vision to the unexpected brightness. The crushing weight that had once pressed against her chest was gone, replaced by a strange lightness. Her body felt more agile, looser, as if gravity had lost some of its hold on her.
As she moved her fingers, she felt the soft texture of the grass beneath her skin. It was different—not rough, not damp, just perfect. The wind brushed against her face, and for a moment, she swore she heard a delicate sound, almost like a song, carried by the breeze. She took a deep breath. The pure air filled her lungs like a balm, fresh and invigorating.
Then, she realized: she felt no pain. No stabs, no suffocating tightness, no weight dragging her down. Only a profound relief, as if she had finally been freed from an invisible prison.
With a mix of wonder and hesitation, she stretched her hands before her, examining them. Her skin looked more radiant, almost translucent under the gentle sunlight. Every movement was fluid, effortless, as if she were made of something different—something lighter, more ethereal.
Something was wrong—or perhaps too right. Her chest felt heavier than normal, yet not in a discomforting way. Her skin… was different. Ophelia ran her fingers over her arm, feeling an absurd softness, as if she were made of living porcelain. No imperfections, no scars. Only clear, luminous skin, as if sculpted by sunlight itself.
As she moved, every motion flowed naturally. Her muscles responded in an unfamiliar way—lighter, more effortless, as if they had never known the weight of exhaustion. The wind caressed her flawless skin, provoking a delicate and almost hypnotic sensation.
She took a deep breath. The clean, fresh air filled her lungs, and for the first time in a long while, she felt… alive.
But when she glanced at her hair—once long, straight, and golden blonde—it was now a breathtaking shade of platinum, cascading in waves like the ocean. As she ran her hand over her head, she felt the soft texture of lupine ears. Her eyes widened. This… this wasn't normal. A shock ran through her body, yet strangely, there was no fear. Only an odd sense of belonging.
Something was wrong—or maybe too right. Her chest felt heavier, her skin was smooth and flawless—but it wasn't hers. Ophelia held out her hands before her. They were elegant, delicate, yet unfamiliar. Each movement felt natural, and yet… distant. As if she was playing a role that didn't belong to her.
A shiver ran down her spine. ""This body wasn't hers. But then, whose was it?""
Suddenly, a sharp pressure surged through her mind, as if something was being forcefully inserted. Instinctively, she shut her eyes, but the images came anyway. Unknown places. Names she had never heard before. Strange customs, yet somehow comprehensible.
It was as if the world itself was teaching her how to exist within it. Women were revered, and polyandry was the norm. Warriors devoted their lives to protecting them, and cities thrived with a culture Ophelia could never have imagined in her previous reality.
When she opened her eyes again, the initial confusion dissipated, replaced by a silent understanding. She "knew"—not because someone had explained it to her, but because the knowledge was simply "there", as if it had always been a part of her.
It was absurd. Illogical. Yet, at the same time, too perfect to be a mere coincidence.
For years, Ophelia had devoured romance stories where heroines were courted by breathtakingly handsome and devoted men, where each page made her heart race and left her dreaming about what it would be like to live something like that.
And now, suddenly, she was here—in a world where women were revered, where polyandry was the norm. Where everything she had secretly "desired" was no longer just fantasy, but reality.
Her stomach twisted with the revelation.
Was this a gift… or a trap laid by fate?
But was it real? Was this truly her new reality? The thought both terrified and thrilled her. For years, Ophelia had dreamed of a world like this—but dreaming was safe. "Living in it… was something entirely different."