The sun rose timidly over the snowy peaks of the north, tinting the sky with ancient pink and pale gold. The tall stained glass windows of the Wing filtered the light in dancing beams that painted the living room floor with soft colors.
The d'Argêntea mansion awoke to rhythms: servants marching in silence, discreet bells announcing the first tasks of the day, and the aroma of freshly baked sweet breads filling the hallways like a forgotten song.
Lígia woke up wrapped in pearl silk, the sheets still crumpled from restless dreams. Her violet eyes opened slowly, reflecting the new color of her soul, and for a moment, she did not recognize the room or herself.
Reincarnation was taking its toll: disconnected memories, strange sensations of belonging and not belonging.
"Miss, your clothes are ready."
Vael entered the room with the elegance of an imperial crow.
Lígia stood up without protest, walking to the silk screen where the class uniform awaited her: a white dress of noble cut, with scarlet details on the sleeves and collar.
While Vael waited for her to get dressed, his voice came out like a beat.
"Today, the etiquette class will be with Lady Maelinne. Then, the history of the dynasties that have relations with the d'Argêntea family. There will be a break to rest in the garden with Clarisse."
Lígia just sighed, but she couldn't resist. Accepting was the first step.
The etiquette class took place in a hall lit by mirrors and floral carpets. Lady Maelinne was sharp as a razor hidden in a fan of lace.
"Walk with your chin slightly raised. Never raise your voice. Look into someone's eyes only when you want to dominate."
Lígia tried. She slipped up on a few rules, but Maelinne smiled with serene cruelty.
"The heiress doesn't need to learn. She just remembers who she once was."
The midday sun touched the garden like a warm kiss. Lígia walked between the beds of black roses, her bare feet sinking lightly into the enchanted grass.
Clarisse ran towards her with her hair loose and a bright yellow dress.
" Lí! Let's play hide and seek!"
Lígia couldn't say no. Seeing Clarisse was like seeing herself, before...
The game wasn't childish. It was a bond.
They ran between statues, hid between trees.
Clarisse laughed, and Lígia smiled without realizing it.
After an exhausting day. Back in the room, sitting on the stool in front of the mirror, Lígia watched the woman who was beginning to emerge.
Dressed in dark silk, with her hair tied in ceremonial braids, she seemed far from the lost girl of yesterday.
The system appeared floating ethereally beside her, and she said in a bored tone.
"Besides being beautiful, she now knows how to walk like a princess. Incredible. And she hasn't killed any servants yet. Progress."
Lígia threw a pillow at the "annoying" system, but gave a light royal laugh.
The history class was in the mansion's crypts. The teacher spoke slowly, but each word weighed like runes.
"Auren didn't just found a lineage. He founded an archetype. The vampire who refuses to be a shadow. The one who builds kingdoms."
Lígia listened attentively. Her fingers touched the runes on the cold walls. Parts of the memory recorded in the family chronicles appeared: bone swords, whispered pacts.
The next day.
Unlike before, this time, it was Lígia who called Clarisse.
They played at making up stories. Ligia told her stories about dragons hiding in mirrors, and Clarisse created happy endings.
"Were you ever a princess?" Clarisse asked, sitting on her lap.
"Maybe I was something worse. Or better. Maybe I was a beautiful monster."
Clarisse laughed.
"So now you can be both!"
That night, Ligia looked up at the ceiling of her room, where artificial stars danced in enchanted spirals. Vael brought her a cup of night tea, and left it in silence.
The system appeared and lay down next to her on the bed. "You're accepting."
"I have no choice," she replied.
"There always is. But the right choice is sometimes the most uncomfortable."
Ligia touched the rose brooch on her necklace.
"I'm going to live this life right. Even if I have to learn to love again to do so."
The system purred. "Tears, This will make a great saga."
And then, for the first time, Lígia slept without fighting against her dreams.
Early in the morning, the room was still shrouded in a bluish twilight, the kind of light that hesitates between dawn and dawn.
The sun's rays filtered through the heavy curtains like indecisive spies, painting faint patterns on the floor.
Lígia woke up slowly, as if emerging from a lake of viscous dreams. Her body moved with the slowness of someone fighting a battle against the world, against time... and against the absurd idea of getting up.
"Mmmghrghh..." was the first sound she managed to make, a mix of grunt and threat.
She sat up in bed with a dramatic effort, her hair falling like a messy waterfall over her shoulders. Her eyes, swollen with sleep, blinked slowly as she tried to decipher which dimension she had woken up in.
She stood up with the unsteady step of a newly resurrected soul… and "CLACK —"
The silence that followed was just the moment the universe held its breath, before the thunder.
"AAAARGH!!!" she screamed, grabbing her foot with both hands, hopping on one foot like a possessed deer. "WHAT A HELL OF A SATANIZED FURNITURE!"
On the bed, the system, in the form of a cat with half-closed eyes and an expression of demonic glee, yawned theatrically before purring "Good morning, uncoordinated hostess."
"Screw you, Peste," she growled, still holding her foot. "You saw and didn't warn me!"
"I live for these moments." And the mana feline rolled lazily among the pillows. "Your suffering warms me more than the sun of the Empire."
She grunted something unintelligible and limped toward the bathroom like a war veteran, cursing furniture, cats, and the Gods of Awakening in sequence.
In the bathroom, an oval mirror floated above the sink, subtly enchanted to follow the user's face — which, at that moment, only served to irritate her even more.
Lígia brushed her teeth with the ferocity of someone hunting dragons. She washed her face, tied her hair in a loose bun, and dove into the bath as if seeking redemption. The water cascaded down her slender body, washing away the sleep, the pain in her foot, and some of the existential anger she carried for having been reincarnated without an instruction manual.
She emerged from the bath enveloped in a mist of lavender and mint, the steam still dancing around her as she wrapped herself in the towel. Her steps were firmer now, but still carried the shadow of a sour mood.
The room was already brighter when she returned. The system watched her from atop a bookshelf, its tail swinging like a mischievous pendulum.
She ignored it.
She opened the closet. The clothes were organized with military precision. Luxury fabrics, hand embroidery, conservation enchantments and automatic adjustment. But instead of choosing quickly, Lígia hesitated. Her fingers hovered over the hangers as if reading stories hidden there.
She dressed slowly, without haste, without enthusiasm. The kind of gesture that was more thought than action.
The first piece was a light linen undershirt, ivory in color, that molded gently to her body. Over it, a long-sleeved blouse, sapphire in color, adjusted at the waist with a white leather belt worked with embossed flowers. The high collar protected her neck with dignity, and mother-of-pearl buttons lined up like soldiers along the bust.
The skirt was long, lead-gray in color, with an enchanted lining for lightness and fluidity. Subtle embroidery of silver-toned roses snaked along the hem, dancing discreetly as she moved. Short white leather boots with mana clasps fitted her feet with the comfort of a well-practiced whisper.
She stopped in front of the mirror.
She said nothing.
But her reflection, dressed in the silent elegance of a noblewoman, spoke volumes. Her gaze was steady but distant. Her mouth was half-closed, as if holding back words she preferred to chew on the inside. Her neck was straight, her posture impeccable—but there was a stiffness in her shoulders that not even the charms of her attire could hide.
Her right hand smoothed her skirt. An automatic movement.
The system watched her, and for a moment, she said nothing. She just looked.
Lígia took a small silver clip with a crimson rose and fixed it in her hair, holding part of the strands back. The gesture was calm. Precise. As if she were preparing for an invisible war.
She turned, her eyes finding the emptiness of the room.
And then, without fanfare, she began walking toward the door.