Maharani's body still felt unbearably heavy. She had awakened in this strange vessel for only a few fleeting moments before darkness claimed her again, with pain stabbing through every bone.
To Maharani, being thrust into such an unfamiliar fate was nothing short of a curse. Confusion and despair suffocated her, as though everything she once knew about herself had been torn away by force.
Yet the torment did not end there.
In her sleep, a dream emerged—stifling and cruel.
A vast lake stretched before her, its surface shimmering under the pale moonlight. A small boat swayed gently upon the water. Beautiful, almost serene—were it not for a sight that shattered the calm.
The water, meant to be still, instead became the stage of tragedy. A young lady, foreign in countenance, fell into the lake. Her golden hair spread wide, her porcelain hands lifted in desperate plea. Her mouth opened for help, but her cry was swallowed whole by the rippling waves.
Maharani screamed.
Her body moved on its own, reaching desperately for the girl's hand, but the distance was too great.
Panic seared through her chest.
Without thought, the frail body she now inhabited leapt into the water.
The lake seized her. The cold cut into her bones, the bitter water rushed into her mouth. Her body flailed, chaotic and helpless—and she knew: this body could not swim.
And yet, fear for herself did not stir within her. Instead, this thin, fragile form was filled with only one resolve: to save the girl.
"Eleonora… I shall save thee… I… blubb… I shall…"
The words fractured beneath the water, faint, trembling with dread.
But who, truly, was in need of saving here?
Her movements grew frantic. Water forced its way into her nose, her throat; the burning spread through her chest, crushing her lungs. Her mind dimmed, yet a faint smile touched her lips as she beheld the maiden Eleanor being lifted to the surface by two gentlemen who had leapt into the lake.
A fleeting relief—and then her own body sank deeper still.
The lake swallowed her whole.
Maharani realized—the one drowning was not Eleonora alone. She, too, was being claimed.
Her hand stretched upward, begging for deliverance, yet no one reached for her.
It was as if she were invisible. Forgotten.
A sorrow deeper than the water pierced her, but the cold gave no space for tears. The depths dragged her down mercilessly.
"Brot... Brother… help… blurbb… save meee!"
Her final cry dissolved into bubbles—then, nothing.
When next she opened her eyes, her body lay upon an old bed. Morning sunlight poured through, blinding her—until a woman's figure shielded her from the glare.
"Maeve… thou hast awakened, my dearest sister. Praise the heavens… I feared… I feared thou wouldst never return to me…" The woman embraced her tightly, weeping.
Maharani stiffened. The woman's face—eerily similar to the maiden from her dream.
[Damn it. Who is this woman? Is she mad? And who is this 'Maeve' she calls for?]
"Maeve… my heart trembled at the thought that thou wouldst never open thine eyes again. Pray, do not so frighten me henceforth."
[Maeve? Who is Maeve?]
Confusion once again strangled her. Maharani longed to cry out, to tear herself from the stranger's hold, to flee from this unfamiliar chamber. Yet her body defied her will.
"Forgive me… forgive me, Eleonora," whispered her lips with a timid, faltering voice that was not her own.
[Wait—why am I speaking? Whose cursed voice is this?]
"Forgive thee? Nay, my sister… it is I who must beg pardon," the beautiful woman wept anew. Her eyes, blue as the deepest sea, radiated sorrow profound enough to draw compassion from any onlooker. Even the servant nearby gazed at them with pity.
"Thou art not at fault. I… I alone was to blame—"
[I? At fault? What is this body saying?]
"Utter it not, my sister. Do not bear the weight of guilt. Though all believe it was thou who sought to cast me into the lake…" Maeve's borrowed body widened her azure eyes in horror. Her pale lips trembled, yet no words followed.
Eleonora, perceiving her distress, hastened to speak:
"Forgive me, Maeve. But believe this, I shall never harbour wrath against thee. I know well that thou wouldst never raise thy hand against me. Though… it felt as though unseen hands pushed me. And in truth, there were none there… save us two."
[What in hell is this woman saying? Is she accusing this body? Why speak in such riddles, damn it!]
"Forgive me, Eleonora. I swear, I never sought to harm thee. I… I leapt to thine aid, but I… I could not swim and—"
"And by God's mercy, our brothers delivered me," Eleonora cut in softly. A faint smile touched her delicate face.
Maeve's head bowed, sorrow spreading across her borrowed features.
[Wait… why do I feel such grief? What is wrong with this body?]
"Indeed… we are most fortunate our brothers were present," Maeve's lips spoke, shaping a frail smile that only deepened the sorrow within.
"Alas… forgive me. For in saving me, our brother abandoned thee. One of them might have reached for thee as well. Then thou wouldst not be stricken with such affliction now." Eleonora clasped her sister's hand, lowering her gaze with guilt.
"No… this is not thy fault. I—"
But before she could finish, a sharp voice cut across the chamber.
"Eleonora! Step away from that child!"
It was a man's voice—thundering with fury from the doorway.
"Allow her not to ensnare thee again! What vile sorcery hast thou wrought upon my sister, witch?!"
[Bloody hell! Do you wish to make me deaf? You'll scare me to death with that shouting!]
That was what Maharani yearned to cry out—but her lips locked tight.
Terror flooded her, her body trembling as her eyes fixed upon the young noble standing in the doorway. His face—undeniably the same she had glimpsed in the dream upon the lake. His gaze pierced her like blades, seething with hatred.
And for the very first time, the so-called queen of cruelty felt…
She no longer held dominion.