The door opened.
That was what woke me not the sunlight and not sound from outside, but the soft click of the latch. My eyes opened instantly as i snapped upright in bed.
A maid stood in the doorway. Older than Elodie, but still young enough to flinch when caught. She froze, tray trembling in her hands.
"G-good morning, my lady," she said quickly, stepping inside. "Breakfast."
I pushed myself towards to the bed side.
She approached the bedside table and set the tray down. Steam curled from the teacup. The scent of sweet, floral, but layered with something medicinal but not quite, fills my nose.
I leaned closer. My brain tried to catalog it. Chemical analysis by scent, a reflex from a life of toxins and sedatives. But this wasn't anything I knew. The undertone was… foreign. Like trying to remember a word that didn't exist.
And yet… there was something else. This smell. Seraphina's memory. Comfort. Warmth. Drinking this on rainy mornings.
"Helga sent you?" I asked.
"Yes, my lady," she said quickly, eyes fixed on the floor.
"What's in the tea?"
She blinked. "Pardon?"
"The ingredients."
Her hands trembled as she lifted the teapot. "Moriagrass, grydonian essence, and barcus, my lady. Sister Halen said it would help you recover."
Moriagrass. Grydonian Essence. Barcus. The names meant nothing to me. No chemical index. No field recognition. Just soft words that tasted wrong in my head. I didn't know them but Seraphina did. Somewhere in her memory, those names made sense.
I sat back, studying the cup. The smell tugging at me, one suspicious and the other nostalgia.
I lifted the warm porcelain cup. My reflection rippled in the tea's surface.
It didn't smell like poison, so i drank it cautiously.
The taste was strange sweet, faintly bitter, earthy in a way it reminds me of Hojicha. a Japanese green tea that is roasted and has a reddish-brown color and a toasty, earthy, and sometimes slightly coffee like flavor.
My instincts screamed unfamiliar, but my body relaxed anyway. Its a bizarre feeling, a side effect from the transmigration.
When I lowered the cup, the maid still hadn't moved. She looked nervous, expectant.
"Is there something else?" I asked.
She hesitated. "Mistress Helga instructed me to assist with your morning routine, my lady. You've… been bedridden for several days. She said you'd require… care."
I frowned. "Care?"
"Your bath, my lady. I'm to help you wash."
For a second, I just stared at her. Processing.
A thirty five year-old man in a twelve year old girl's body, about to be scrubbed by a stranger.
"…Are you serious?"
"Of course, my lady."
I exhaled. "Of course."
"....."
Marin wrung out the towel and pressed it against my shoulder, the cloth damp and faintly scented with soap and lavender. I sat on a chair beside the steaming basin, jaw tight, trying not to flinch.
This wasn't pain I'm feeling, it was humiliation.
Being scrubbed like a child by someone who I barely know was an absurdity I'd never imagined surviving long enough to experience this sort of embarrassment. In my past life, I'd been bathed in antiseptic showers after field debriefs, stripped of identity, not dignity. And yet this is somehow worst.
Marin worked in silence, careful, methodical, her motions soft yet automatic. I kept my eyes on the tiled floor, counting her strokes. Left shoulder. Right. Neck. Back. Efficient, but not clinical. Gentle. Too gentle.
I hated how fragile this body felt beneath her hands. She apologies every time I tensed, though she'd done nothing wrong. I wasn't angry at her. I was angry at myself.
When she moved behind me, I caught a glimpse of the mirror across the room.
For a moment, I didn't recognize the reflection.
The girl staring back was pale, hollow eyed, a faint flush on her cheeks from the steam. Hair the color of dark brown clung damply to her neck. Too thin. Too small. A ghost pretending to be alive.
A memory stirred of a blank white room. I'd been weak once before. Small. Disposable. A number before I was given a name.
The lab lights were always white, the air always cold. I remembered the sound of the metal door closing. A woman's voice soft but uncertain said "Be brave, okay?" My mother, I think. I couldn't remember her face anymore. Just the tremor in her voice as she handed me over to the men in black uniforms.
"Subject 11-B. Male. Age six."
"—my lady?" Marin's voice broke through the haze. I blinked. My eyes had gone unfocused, staring at the mirror too long.
I exhaled slowly. "Continue."
She nodded, resuming her work.
Weakness. Helplessness. Two constants of existence, recycled across lifetimes. I'd spent decades erasing the first, killing the second. Now both were back.
She finished and handed me a warm towel. I wrapped it around myself and sat in silence, staring at the small droplets forming on my knees.
I'd been… emotional lately. Too much. The tears. The guilt. The nostalgia. None of it was rational. But emotions were a kind of intelligence too. They let you connect, influence and importantly manipulate.
Lyra used to say they made you human.
Lyra, who wanted me to stop being a weapon.
Would she have wanted this? For me to live quietly, to play the part of a child and pretend peace was possible?
"...my lady?" Marin again, hesitant. Her hand hovered near my arm, unsure if she was allowed to touch me.
I blinked out of the spiral of thought. "What?"
She flushed, startled. "Forgive me, my lady. You went quiet. I thought you might have fainted." She rushed to the wardrobe and began pulling out clothes—silks, ribbons, lace. "We must dress you quickly."
I frowned. "Why? It's a rest day, isn't it?"
"Yes, my lady, but Mistress Helga gave orders. You are to wear this." She held up a pale blue gown trimmed in white, delicate and absurdly ornate. "You'll be receiving visitors this morning."
"Visitors?" The word came out colder than I intended.
She hesitated. "Yes, my lady. From the neighboring estate."
I stared at the dress. Ribbons. Petticoats. looks ridiculous.
"Wonderful," I muttered, standing as she fussed over the laces and buttons. The fabric was soft, light and constricting in all the wrong places. I felt ludicrous.
"Hold still, please," Marin whispered, tightening a sash around my waist.
As she stepped back to admire her work, I caught my reflection again. The pale, well-dressed noble girl staring back looked harmless.
A mask.
And for the first time that morning, I almost smiled.
Marin guided me through the long hall, her voice quiet as she explained where we were going. "The guest room, my lady. Your visitor is waiting."
Visitor. The word sat wrong. Seraphina's memory offered no guest expected, no letter, no friend. No one who should care enough to visit. My pulse slowed. This could be an inquiry. A test. Or worse a priest.
After all, a girl who fell from a horse, woke up wrong, and spoke like a stranger? That was how "exorcisms" began. They'd call it a purification, a holy rite to drive out the foreign spirit. In other words, me.
Before I could chase the thought further, Marin stopped before a set of double doors carved with roses. "We're here, my lady."
I studied the gold handles, hesitant. Whoever waited on the other side was expecting Seraphina. I wasn't sure which of us they'd get.
Marin opened the door.
The scent of tea filled the air. A boy about my age sat on a velvet chair, posture perfect, a porcelain cup balanced delicately in his hand. His hair was blond, cut neatly, his eyes a clear noble blue. Behind him, his maid stood still as a statue.
A prince? Some early betrothal arrangement? The Duke's political move? No. Seraphina had no memory of any such thing. Then who is this kid?
The boy set down his teacup, rose with practiced grace—then ran straight toward me.
Before Marin could react, he wrapped his arms around me.
I stiffened. His scent bergamot and sugar. The warmth of his hands. My mind clicked once, then flooded.
Theo.
The name dropped like a stone through still water.
He was the son of Duke Reinhardt the first duke, the one second only to the crown. His father and mine were allies by convenience, monsters who smiled in daylight. Because of that alliance, Theo visited often. To others, he was charming. Angelic. The perfect noble child.
But Seraphina's memories showed me the truth, this is no ordinary child. He is the devil. A wolf in sheep's clothing.
"Seraphina!" he said brightly, pulling back just enough to beam at me. "You're awake! I missed you!"
I said nothing.
"Come on," he continued, taking my hand. "Let's play."
Marin started forward. "My lady is not- she's still recovering, Master Theo—"
Theo turned, eyes wide and trembling, the. "B-but I've been waiting so long," he said, voice small, innocent. "I promised we wouldn't be rough. Please, just a little while? My lovely friend Sera wouldn't refuse me, would she?"
Manipulative. Rehearsed. Weaponized innocence.
He smiled like a saint and spoke like a snake.
My silence was answer enough. Marin hesitated, caught between duty and fear. Theo's eyes gleamed when he sensed it.
"It's fine," I said finally, my tone flat. "I'll go."
Marin looked at me, uncertain. But when I didn't flinch, she bowed slightly. "As you wish, my lady."
Theo's grin widened, all charm and teeth. "Perfect!"
He didn't let go of my hand. His fingers curled tight, warm and unyielding, as he pulled me out of the salon. Marin called after us, her hurried steps echoing behind. Theo's maid followed wordlessly.
I said nothing. I didn't need to. The halls blurred past—the marble floors, the sunlight through stained glass, Marin's distant pleas for him to slow down. He laughed, the bright, ringing sound of a child who had never been told no.
And I let him pull me.
I was silent, watching, memorizing. Every gesture. Every inflection. Every calculated glance over his shoulder to make sure his maid was watching, that Marin was chasing, that the world saw him as harmless.
Wolf.
The resemblance was unnerving. Wolf had been the same. Beautiful, persuasive, lethal. If I'd been the scalpel swift and precise he'd been the silk glove over the blade. He could talk his way into a target's heart before cutting it out.
Theo had the same instinct. The same smile. The same ability to make people believe.
I didn't like him. He reminded me too much of the man who'd hunted me, the one I could never quite outmaneuver.
But unlike Wolf, this one was still a child.
A noble. A future elector. A weapon waiting to be shaped.
If I couldn't crush him now then. I would learn to hold the leash.
A friend? No.
An ally? Maybe.
A tool? Definitely.
Theo laughed again, tugging me toward the courtyard doors, unaware that he had already let the snake wrap its first layer on him.