The broth was warm, but it did little to ease the chill that had settled deep in Aisha's bones. Each spoonful only emphasized how surreal everything felt: the silken sheets, the towering mirror, the name that wasn't hers but belonged to this body—Liora.
She pushed the bowl away, appetite gone. Her hands trembled slightly. They looked so thin, the fingers long and delicate, like brittle glass stems. In her old body she'd been sturdy, calloused from tools and wires, the faint burn mark on her thumb a permanent reminder of her experiments. Here, not even a scar remained.
She clenched her fists, testing her strength. Weak. This body had no resilience, no durability. Even standing had left her dizzy earlier.
The maid hovered nearby, wringing her hands. "Young Miss, should I fetch more blankets? You're shivering."
"No," Aisha said, sharper than intended. She softened her tone. "Leave me. I need to… rest."
The maid hesitated, then curtsied and slipped out, closing the door softly behind her.
The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating.
Aisha swung her legs over the side of the bed, forcing herself upright. Her knees wobbled but held. Step by step, she crossed the room until she stood before the mirror again.
The girl staring back was undeniably her now, no matter how foreign. Hollow cheeks, sallow skin, lifeless hair. No wonder the maid had spoken with pity. In a society obsessed with beauty, this face was a curse.
A sharp laugh escaped her throat, bitter and humorless. Of all the bodies I could have ended up in…
She touched the glass, fingertips tracing the reflection. Somewhere out there, the real Liora had lived and breathed. What had happened to her? Had Aisha stolen her place, or had this girl died, leaving behind an empty vessel for her to inhabit?
The thought twisted her stomach.
Before she could spiral further, voices drifted from beyond the door. Faint but clear.
She crept closer, pressing her ear to the wood.
"—awake, you say?" A man's voice, deep and clipped with authority.
"Yes, Lord Darius," came the maid's nervous reply. "Young Miss Liora woke not an hour ago. Lady Mira has already seen her."
A pause. Then a low chuckle. "How unfortunate. I had hoped her slumber might be permanent."
Aisha's breath caught.
The maid gasped softly. "My lord—"
"Do not pretend otherwise," Darius interrupted. "Her ranking is abysmal. She brings shame to the family. Every gathering, every banquet, whispers follow us. 'The East Wing houses the blemish,' they say." His tone dripped with disdain.
"But she is Lady Mira's—"
"She is a liability," he snapped. "And liabilities drag us down the rankings. You know how merciless the council is. Beauty is power, and she has none. Were it not for Mira's stubborn attachment, Liora would have been cast out long ago."
Aisha's heart pounded in her ears. Cast out? For being plain?
The maid's voice trembled. "But, my lord, she is still your—"
"Enough. Tend to her if you must, but do not delude yourself. She is nothing more than a shadow on this house." Footsteps receded, each one echoing like a hammer striking stone.
Aisha stumbled back, pressing a hand against her chest.
The words felt like knives. Abysmal. Liability. Cast out. All for a face that didn't meet some arbitrary standard.
She sank onto the bed, mind whirling.
What kind of nightmare is this?
In her world, beauty had influence, yes—but money, talent, and intellect still carried weight. Here, it seemed beauty was everything. Your worth, your survival, your future… all determined by a number.
And she was at the bottom.
The door cracked open again, the maid slipping inside quietly. Her eyes darted nervously around before she hurried to Aisha's side.
"You shouldn't listen at the door, Young Miss," she whispered urgently. "Lord Darius's words… they are cruel, but true."
Aisha swallowed hard. "This ranking… tell me everything."
The maid bit her lip. "I shouldn't—"
"Tell me," Aisha pressed, her voice firmer this time.
The maid hesitated, then nodded. She perched at the edge of the bed, voice low. "Every person in this realm is assigned a beauty ranking when they come of age. It is measured by the Orb of Radiance, blessed by the Divine. The scale runs from 0 to 100. Scores above 90 are revered—those people often rise to nobility, sometimes even royalty. Scores in the 70s and 80s can secure marriages, wealth, influence. But below 50…" She shook her head. "Below 50, life is cruel."
Aisha's breath caught. Below 50. Just like the scanner in her lab had judged her.
The maid's eyes flicked up to hers, filled with sympathy. "Your score, Young Miss… is 32."
The number slammed into Aisha like a physical blow.
Thirty-two. In this world, she was condemned to scorn, destined to be trampled beneath the feet of the beautiful.
The maid reached for her hand hesitantly. "But… you have Lady Mira's protection. Without her, the council would have forced you out already."
Aisha stared at their joined hands, numb. Thirty-two. Lower than she'd ever imagined.
She drew in a shaky breath. No. I won't let a number decide my fate. Not here, not anywhere.
But the conviction rang hollow against the sheer weight of this world's laws.
The maid squeezed her hand once more, then rose. "Please, rest, Young Miss. Tomorrow, Lady Mira will explain more. For now… gather your strength. You will need it."
When she left, Aisha sat alone in the golden silence of the chamber, her heart racing.
The Orb of Radiance. A council that ruled by beauty. A family that despised her.
She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms.
The scanner hadn't just transported her into another body. It had thrown her into the very system she had always feared most—one that judged and discarded based solely on appearance.
And now, she was trapped at the very bottom.
Her reflection in the mirror gazed back at her, fragile and defeated. But behind her eyes, something hardened.
What kind of world is this? she thought bitterly. One I will have to learn to survive in… no matter what it takes.