The morning sun filtered through the tall glass windows of the manor, warm light spilling onto the polished floor like melted gold. Birds chirped faintly outside, their songs soft and elegant—perfectly fitting the grand atmosphere of Seraphine's noble residence.
But inside, elegance had already died a tragic death.
"Damn this dress! I swear I'll tear it into rags one of these days!" Seraphine's voice thundered in the hallway, except it wasn't Seraphine—not really.
It was Lissa in Seraphine's body, stomping down the corridor with all the grace of a mercenary who had just lost a drinking bet. The long flowing gown tripped around her ankles, and the embroidered ribbons fluttered like defeated flags as she marched. Her voice was loud, unfiltered, a complete betrayal of the delicate lady Seraphine was supposed to be.
