The first thing that hit me wasn't the sunlight streaming through ridiculously ornate windows. It wasn't even the fact that my bed felt like it had been stolen from the clouds themselves. No. It was a migraine from hell. Like someone had taken a jackhammer to my skull and decided to throw in a few fireworks just for fun.
"Ugh," I groaned, pressing my palms to my temples. "Did I drink an entire bottle of wine last night? Because I feel like I got hit by a—"
Wait.
My voice sounded… different. Higher. More melodic. Like I'd suddenly been gifted Disney princess vocal cords overnight.
What the hell?
I cracked my eyes open, bracing to see my tiny studio apartment and its lovely dumpster view. Instead, I found a ceiling that belonged in Versailles. Cherubs. Gold leaf. Ornate carvings. Probably cost more than my yearly salary as an IT manager.
"Okay," I muttered, sitting up slowly. "Either someone kidnapped me and has an extremely expensive taste… or I've finally had that mental breakdown everyone at work predicted."
That's when the memories hit me like a freight train loaded with every fantasy trope ever written.
Lady Elara Ravencrest. Villainess extraordinaire. Destined to die horribly in six months when the heroine gets tired of my schemes and the male leads decide I'm too much trouble to keep alive.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," I groaned, flopping back onto the pillows. "Of all the characters to transmigrate into, I get the one with a giant 'Please Murder Me' sign hanging around her neck."
I sat up again, more carefully this time, and immediately regretted it. Not because of the headache—it was still raging—but because I saw something that made my blood run cold.
My hair.
It was everywhere. Deep crimson, cascading down my shoulders and back in waves of liquid fire. Beautiful, yes. Practical? Absolutely not. This was hair that needed a full-time staff, probably its own insurance policy.
"This is going to require so much conditioner," I moaned, running my fingers through the silky mass. "How did the original Elara even function? Did she have a hair assistant? A crane?"
Determined to understand my new situation, I swung my legs out of bed and immediately got tangled in what felt like twelve yards of silk nightgown. Because apparently, even pajamas had to be dramatic in fantasy land.
"Right. Note to self," I muttered, wrestling with the fabric. "Invest in sleepwear that doesn't double as a wedding dress."
I finally freed myself and stood up, only to trip over an absurdly long cape draped over a nearby chair.
Who leaves a cape lying around? I thought, flailing wildly. And why so long? Was the original Elara compensating for something?
I went down hard, taking what looked like a priceless vase with me. It shattered against the marble floor, probably waking half the castle.
"Smooth, Elara," I groaned, sprawled on the cold stone. "Really cementing your reputation as a competent villainess."
From my undignified position, I spotted a full-length mirror across the room. With grim curiosity, I untangled myself from the cape of doom and made my way over.
The woman staring back was… stunning. Crimson hair defying physics. Emerald eyes glowing. Bone structure that could cut glass. She looked like she'd stepped out of a romance novel cover. Other women probably wept at her mere existence.
"Well," I said to my reflection, "at least if I die horribly, I'll look fantastic doing it."
Panic hit next. Because looking at this face, these clothes, this ridiculously opulent room, all the memories of the novel came rushing back. And they were not good.
Lady Elara Ravencrest was supposed to spend the next few months making life miserable for everyone, especially the sweet heroine who had the audacity to attract all four of the kingdom's eligible bachelors. Poisonings. Sabotage. General chaos. And all of it leading to her deservedly horrible end.
"Nope," I said firmly to my reflection. "Absolutely not. I am not dying just because some author wanted a villainess to be irredeemably evil."
I was mid-crisis when I didn't hear the knock at the door. Or the second knock. Or the cautious voice calling, "My lady? Are you alright? We heard a crash..."
The door opened. A young maid with mousy brown hair peeked in nervously. Her eyes darted from the broken vase to me, standing in a dramatic nightgown with hair threatening fire hazards.
"Oh no," she whispered, calculating her own doom. "My lady, I—"
"Whoa, hold on," I said, raising my hands. "It's fine. I broke it. My fault. Something about ridiculously long capes and basic motor skills not mixing well."
The maid—Sarah, according to my memories—stared like I'd grown a second head. Honestly, that would be less shocking than what I was about to ask.
"Sarah, right?" I said, forcing a friendly smile. "Do we have coffee? Strong coffee. Like, wake-the-dead coffee."
Sarah blinked. "Coffee, my lady?"
"You know, coffee. Dark liquid. Makes mornings functional. Comes from beans." I was desperate. "Please tell me this kingdom discovered coffee."
"I… we have tea, my lady. Herbal tea."
I felt a piece of my soul die. "Right. Of course. Nothing easy here."
Sarah stared like I might spontaneously combust—which, given my hair color, wasn't unreasonable.
"Also," I pressed on, committed now, "could you cancel all my evil plans today? I feel more 'lie in bed and contemplate life' than 'poison someone and ruin lives.'"
"Your… evil plans, my lady?"
"Yes, whatever villainous plotting I had scheduled. Let's skip it today."
Her face changed color multiple times before settling on pale green horror.
"My lady," she said carefully, "are you well? Should I fetch the physician?"
"I'm restructuring my entire approach to existence," I said cheerfully. "Other than that, fantastic."
Sarah fainted.
One moment standing, the next crumpled like a puppet with cut strings.
"Well," I said to her unconscious form, "better than expected."
I debated waking her or letting her recover naturally when voices approached outside. Male voices. Familiar ones. My supposed love interests. All four. Together.
Oh no.
I was in a museum-worthy nightgown, hair waging war on gravity, next to an unconscious maid and broken pottery.
This is fine, I thought. Totally fine. I'll just explain my personality transplant and hope for the best.
The voices neared. I heard words: "checking on Lady Elara"… "the commotion"… "making sure she hasn't murdered anyone yet."
Yet. Encouraging.
I glanced at Sarah, still unconscious, then my reflection. Emerald eyes wide. Crimson hair chaos.
Footsteps stopped outside the door.
"Lady Elara?" A deep, cool voice. Duke Kaelan Ashford. Ice-cold until the heroine melted his heart. "We heard a disturbance. Are you alright?"
I opened my mouth. Only a strangled squeak came out.
Four men. The ones destined to fall for the heroine. The same four who would deem Lady Elara too dangerous to live.
Thirty seconds to survive.
Well, I thought, hysteria creeping in, at least my hair looks fantastic.
The doorknob began to turn.