Amelia groaned, the sound a rough rasp that scraped against her throat, utterly alien to her own melodic voice. "Ughh... So uncomfortable." Her hand reached out, expecting the familiar plush of her mattress, a soft landing from a midnight tumble. But there was nothing, only the chilling kiss of empty air.
A jolt of discomfort, sharp and immediate, pricked at her. Her eyes fluttered open, slowly, grudgingly, a frown creasing her brow. This wasn't her room. This was a place of cold, unyielding stone walls, a stark prison compared to her cozy haven.
Just a dream, she tried to tell herself, a desperate whisper of reassurance. The rough scent of mildew, a bitter tang in the air, stung her nostrils. The biting chill of dampness seeped into her bones, a cold more profound than any night air could conjure. Dim torchlight flickered, casting dancing shadows along a narrow corridor visible through an open archway – too vivid, too real for a dream. She shifted, the hard floor grinding against her spine, and a sharp ache flared in her wrists. Shackles. Rough, cold metal chafed her skin.
Not a dream. The realization hit her like a physical blow, stealing her breath. It's not a dream. She scrambled to her feet, startled, her eyes darting around the small, desolate chamber. Panic, cold and sharp, began to prickle at the edges of her mind.
She searched frantically for any clue, any hint as to why she was here, in this unfamiliar, terrifying place. Her gaze landed on a small, high window. Hope, a fragile flutter, stirred within her. She lunged for it, a desperate need to see beyond these walls, but the heavy iron chains fastened to her wrists yanked her back, sending her sprawling. "Ahh!" The sound was a strangled cry, high-pitched and unfamiliar.
Wait. That's not my voice.
A new wave of horror washed over her, chilling her to the bone. Her voice was deeper, rougher, entirely wrong. Her hands, when she stared at them, were broader, the nails unpolished, the skin rougher than her own. Her body felt alien, the limbs longer, the muscles tauter.
No. Don't tell me... Have I been reborn?
Driven by a terrifying urgency, she dragged the heavy chains, the metallic clang echoing in the small room, and stumbled towards the window again. Her prison chamber was high up, offering a dizzying view of the world below. People moved about on a sprawling green, some strolling casually, others gathered in animated groups. It looked like a school.
Huh? How could this be a school? I'm definitely imprisoned here.
Then she saw it. A flash of light, a surge of energy. A student, casually, almost negligently, conjured a shimmering orb of light in their palm. Then another, sending a gust of wind to ruffle the leaves of a nearby tree. Magic. It was happening everywhere, openly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
A name, a place from a half-remembered fantasy, clawed its way to the forefront of her mind. Wait... Don't tell me it's that novel I was reading last night, where magic was also part of the world? I... is it Elarion Academy?
No way! My heart skipped. No. It couldn't be. That was a fictional place—one I knew inside and out, page by page, chapter by chapter. I had devoured that novel like it was my lifeline.
Then the realization hit me like a cart speeding downhill.
I was in the novel. Inside the story I had obsessed over, laughed with, cried through. But I wasn't the powerful heroine or one of the noble side characters. No. I was someone else. Someone minor. A prisoner.
I tried to stand, but a sharp pain flared behind my eyes. Memories—not mine—rushed in like a flood bursting through a dam. My knees buckled, and I sank back down, clutching my head.
A name echoed in my mind like a whispered curse: Seraphina.
That was me. No… the girl I had possessed. Seraphina. A child who had known nothing but cruelty. Her parents had died when she was little, and she had been passed to a vile couple who treated her like livestock. They'd planned to sell her—when the timing was right, when the price was high enough.
The last thing she remembered was being dragged away. Not for something she had done, but for a crime that couple committed. To save themselves, they had thrown her to the wolves.
I pressed my palms to the stone floor, breathing through the pain, the shock, the grief. The injustice of it all made my chest burn.
"How can they be so stupid?" I muttered aloud. My voice was hoarse, weak. "Are the officials at Elarion brain-dead? Why would a magic academy imprison a child for something her scum guardians did?"
I expected no answer, only the quiet hum of magical wards and the soft crackle of torchlight.
This wasn't the grand tower of enchantments or the glittering halls where the chosen ones trained. This was the underbelly—the dungeon where magical misfits and criminals were thrown.
And Seraphina… I… was among them.
I leaned back against the wall, breathing hard. The worst part wasn't the shackles or the filth.
It was the truth: I had died in my old world. I didn't know how or why—maybe a car crash, maybe a silent illness. But it didn't matter now. Amelia was gone.
And yet, here I was. Seraphina now.
A forgotten girl in a story I once knew like the back of my hand. But this version? This wasn't in the book.
Something was wrong with the timeline. With me being here.
And if I wanted to survive, to fix this broken injustice, I had to play smart.
I didn't know what role Seraphina was supposed to play.
But I can't stay here like this... doing nothing.