"What… what is happening? Am I… am I really alive?" Saiantha's mind screamed, panic tightening around her chest like a vice. Her lips quivered, but no sound came out. She tried to move her arms, but they felt heavy, strange, unfamiliar. Her tiny hands—delicate, trembling—gripped the edge of the bed. No… this can't be real. This… this isn't me. How am I here?
The room slowly came into view. Small, dim, and worn. Cracks ran through the plaster walls, dust coated every surface, and shafts of sunlight pierced the grimy window, illuminating the swirling particles dancing in the air. In the corner, a bed with frayed sheets seemed to mock her helplessness. A tiny wooden chair and a wardrobe sat quietly, broken and uneven. The floor creaked under the weight of the silence, echoing with a hollow emptiness that made her chest tighten further.
She looked down at herself—or rather, the small body she now inhabited. A five-year-old child, fragile, weak, utterly defenseless. Panic surged violently. Her mind raced. No… no, this can't be happening. I… I died… didn't I? And now… I'm a child?
Flashes of memory flickered in her mind, hazy and incomplete. Life in another world… laughter, pain, fleeting faces, voices. Death… she remembered death, sudden and violent, leaving only a hollow ache. And yet, here she was, breathing, alive, trapped in this unfamiliar body.
The door creaked, and a shadow entered the room. She flinched instinctively. A woman appeared—old, with silver-streaked hair tied neatly at the back. Her hands were wrinkled but moved with precision and care. Lines of age marked her face, but her eyes were warm, full of quiet understanding.
"You… little princess," the woman said softly, almost like a whisper, as she gently lifted Saiantha from the bed and dressed her in simple but neat clothing. There was no introduction, no explanation of who she was—only care, guidance, and concern.
As soon as she was dressed, Saiantha's small body felt weak, fragile. She tried to stand, but her legs trembled violently. The woman guided her back to the bed, tucking her carefully under the thin blankets. "Rest," she said softly. "You are weak… your body needs strength. Stay here, little princess."
Saiantha felt a sharp pang in her stomach. Hunger, emptiness, fatigue… all of it hit at once. The woman had given her food earlier, but clearly, the meals had been insufficient—poorly prepared, leaving her malnourished and fragile. She had been left in this room, this bed, to recover slowly, while the woman attended to her silently, watching over her with quiet vigilance.
Hours passed. Saiantha lay on the bed, shivering lightly, her small hands clutching the thin blanket. Every sound from outside—the faint clatter of distant footsteps, muffled voices—made her heart pound. She realized, with growing unease, that this world was vast, and she was utterly unprepared.
She tried to speak, to cry, to call out… but her voice failed her again. Weakness sapped her strength. And yet, even in her helplessness, her mind began to focus. I am here… I am alive… and I must survive.
The woman returned periodically, bringing small sips of water, adjusting the blanket, whispering gently: "Rest, little princess. You must gain strength. One day, you will need it." There was no name given, no identity revealed—only care, patience, and guidance.
A quiet restlessness stirred inside her. She pushed herself up slowly from the bed, legs trembling but determined. Moving carefully, almost silently, she approached the far wall of the room. There, a tall, cracked mirror hung, reflecting the dim light.
Saiantha's small hands touched the glass hesitantly, and she leaned closer. Her breath caught in her throat. White hair—so pale it seemed to glow softly in the sunlight. Her childlike face, fragile and unfamiliar, stared back at her.
Memories flashed: the novel she had read, long ago, its story of emperors, demons, and cursed children, flooding her mind in fragments. Names, places, faces… I'm inside it. I'm really inside the story. I'm Saiantha Emprius… the twelfth child… the one they call cursed…
A shiver ran down her spine. She touched her hair gently, her fingers trembling over the pale strands. "It… it's really me," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I… I'm in the story… I'm alive here…"
The reflection offered no answers, only certainty of her new reality. Fear mixed with an unfamiliar determination. I will survive… I will learn… I will not be broken…
Night fell, and candlelight flickered against the cracked walls. Saiantha lay quietly, staring at the ceiling, her body weak, her mind racing. Questions tumbled endlessly: Who can I trust? What is expected of me? How can I gain strength in this fragile body?
Even in the dark, with her body exhausted and fragile from malnutrition, she felt the spark of resolve ignite. I am here. I am alive. I will survive. I will learn. I will not break.
When dawn came, the soft light filtering through the window revealed the woman silently adjusting the blanket, watching over her with quiet care. Saiantha's tiny body was still frail, but her mind was sharpening, her resolve hardening. Each breath, each moment, each whisper from the unseen caretaker reminded her: this world is hers to navigate, and survival begins with patience and observation.
The journey had begun