The candles burned low in Celina's chambers, casting flickering shadows across her face as she sat on the edge of her bed, her brows furrowed in thought.
How did she turn the tables so easily?
She replayed every moment of the party. The way Amelia smiled. The way she spoke so innocently—yet every word struck like a hidden blade.
She knows. She knows about the tonic. Maybe even about the letters I sent. About everything.
Her chest tightened. "No… someone must be influencing her," she muttered. "She was never this clever. Not before."
Celina's fists clenched the bedsheets. "She's changed. But I won't let her think she's won. I'm still the one in charge. I am the daughter of this house. Not her."
With that, she extinguished the candle beside her and sank into the silk pillows, her thoughts still spinning with silent rage.
Across the corridor, the mood couldn't be more different.
Amelia sat cross-legged on her bed, the moonlight shining through the open balcony as she threw her head back with laughter.
"She's such a stupid bitch!" she snorted. "I didn't even have to try that hard. The look on her face when she fainted? Priceless."
Beatrice giggled quietly, covering her mouth. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"
"Oh, I loved it," Amelia smirked, her eyes gleaming. "I didn't know revenge could be so fun. Honestly, if I'd known this earlier, I'd have started playing this game the moment I opened my eyes in this world."
Her laughter faded into a satisfied hum. "So… what's next on our little agenda?"
Beatrice picked up the small notebook she always carried. "Tomorrow, you're scheduled to go into town with the headmaid to restock a few things. Clothes, ribbons, soaps—nothing stressful. The rest of the day is clear. No guests, no tea invitations. Just fresh air."
Amelia blinked, then smiled.
"This will be the first time I'm stepping out since I got thrown into this messed-up party," she said quietly, almost to herself. "I think I'm finally ready to breathe."
Far from the Harrowind estate, deep within the grand and storm-gray halls of the Blackmoor residence, a different conversation was unfolding.
Lord Dorian Blackmoor sat at his desk, the collar of his black silk shirt unbuttoned, revealing a sharp collarbone and a trail of water from his damp hair still clinging to his neck. The candlelight danced against his chiseled jaw, casting a gold sheen over his pale skin.
He wasn't dressed for war—but he still looked dangerous. A man carved from cold marble and secrets.
Theodore stood a few feet away, delivering his report.
"The Viscount appears… ambitious," he said diplomatically. "Too eager to parade one daughter while trying to discard the other. But what struck me was Lady Amelia."
Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Amelia?"
"Yes, my Lord. She was elegant, composed… and graceful, surprisingly so. Not at all like the rumors described her. There's something unusual about her. The nobles whispered of her being a 'lost cause'—but she commanded attention when she danced. She seemed… aware of her surroundings. Calculated, almost."
Dorian leaned back in his leather chair, his damp hair falling slightly over his brow.
"Interesting," he murmured, his voice low and velvet-smooth. "I like people who aren't what they seem."
His eyes, ice-grey and unreadable, flicked up to Theodore.
"Keep your eye on her. Report anything else strange. I want to know what kind of woman the Viscount is trying to hide."
The morning sun broke gently through the curtains, casting golden beams over the wooden floorboards of Amelia's room. Her lashes fluttered as she stirred from sleep, her heart still pounding from the same vivid dream—the one with the crimson eyes and the scent of wild rain.
But this time, instead of fear, there was something else.
Excitement.
"This world," she whispered to herself, smiling faintly, "it may not be mine… but maybe it's starting to feel like home."
Grace knocked and entered moments later, already holding a simple yet elegant brown gown—soft fabric, modest neckline, and light trimming that framed Amelia's waist gracefully. A woven straw hat with a muted ribbon rested on the dresser.
With Grace's help, Amelia dressed. "You don't need to follow me today," she said gently, adjusting the ribbon of her hat in the mirror. "I'll be fine with the head maid."
Grace hesitated. "As you wish, my lady. Just… be careful out there."
Amelia gave a small nod, then turned and left.
The carriage wheels clattered softly over cobblestone as they approached the heart of the kingdom. The capital was alive with morning light—sunlight warmed the stone buildings, and colorful awnings shaded shopfronts overflowing with woven fabrics, fresh produce, and trinkets. Children weaved between stalls, laughter echoing in the distance. Bakers called out the day's pastries; a florist arranged sun-blooms and forget-me-nots in clay vases.
It wasn't overly glamorous—but it was real. Lived in. Loved.
Amelia leaned slightly forward, peering out the window, a quiet sense of awe in her eyes.
"It's been a long time since you came outside like this," the head maid said suddenly, smiling. "But I thought it's only right we pass by the place you always insist on visiting."
Amelia blinked. A place I always visited?
She sat back, curious. Where exactly did Amelia go whenever she had a chance to breathe?
She got her answer a few minutes later.
The carriage rolled to a slow stop in front of a modest brick building surrounded by willow trees and fluttering white birds. The faint sound of children's laughter danced through the air.
Amelia stepped down carefully, her shoes crunching the gravel path.
Then—before she could take in her surroundings—a small blur rushed toward her.
"Princess Amelia!"
A tiny girl with tangled curls and bright eyes threw her arms around Amelia's waist.
Amelia froze, startled. Princess?
She looked up and saw the building's faded wooden sign:
"Wings of Hope Orphanage"
A soft gasp escaped her lips.
The birds.
The garden.
The laughter.
It's just like the orphanage from my world…
Suddenly, it all came back.
The scent of warm bread.
The sound of tiny footsteps.
Her own small hands gripping a spoon, eating alone…
Her heart clenched, and without even realizing it, a tear slipped down her cheek.
She bent down slowly, brushing the girl's cheek with trembling fingers. "What's your name?"
The little girl grinned, revealing a gap-toothed smile. "Mary! It's Mary. I'm your fairy!"
Amelia laughed through her tears. "My fairy, huh?"
Mary nodded, then twirled in her worn-out shoes. "You always bring us sweets and hugs and you said fairies like me make the world better."
That broke something soft and buried inside Amelia.
She took the girl's hands in hers. "Well then, Mary. I think you've already made mine better."