Coughs.
"Huh?"
I mumbled, but I couldn't hear my own voice.
Whose voice was that, I wondered, floating in the suffocating darkness that had me trapped. I tried to force my eyelids open but they wouldn't obey, and I willed my hands to move but they wouldn't either.
What the hell was happening?
A wave of memories crashed over me, each one more jarring than the last. I had died, murdered by that bastard, but why, why would anyone want me dead, I had no enemies, hardly any friends.
Why?
And what did he mean by that cryptic nonsense, what was this circle, what did I need to finish?
Damn that psychopathic bastard.
Thwack!
A sharp pain sliced through my jaw and rang through my skull. I screamed, but my voice vanished into silence again, and with effort my eyelids finally fluttered open, only for blinding light to assault my eyes and make me recoil. I tried to raise my hands to shield them but my hands still wouldn't cooperate.
"Hah, ah, hah!" My breaths came in ragged gasps and my body ached all over.
"Finally, I can put this bastard in his place." The words cut through my haze and as my vision cleared I found myself gripped by the collar of my shirt, dangling in front of a boy with an innocent face whose glare was anything but. Messy black hair framed his face and his blood-red eyes glowed with something ugly, contrasting sharply with the expensive clothes he wore.
Who the hell was this, and why was a child beating me up?
The boy drew back his hand to strike again, and enraged by the sheer disrespect I tried to raise my own hand to stop him, but then I caught sight of it, my hand, small and frail and not mine, and before I could make sense of it a powerful blow sent me crashing to the ground with blood spilling from my lips.
"Hah, ha, ha."
"Damian, don't leave too many marks, we don't want her finding out," another boy stepped forward, similarly dressed in expensive clothes, his golden blonde hair catching the light and his eyes glinting with the same malice.
"Tch, that's what pisses me off even more," Damian spat, yanking me closer until our faces were inches apart. "That air of arrogance, like he doesn't know his place."
"Don't worry, with time he'll be disowned by Father, I'd like to see his pride then," the blonde boy chuckled, placing a hand on Damian's shoulder. "And the way I see it, she probably won't be coming to see him anymore either."
"What?" Damian released his grip and I slumped to the ground breathless.
"I doubt any noble house would want their daughter associating with someone like him, even the king called off the engagement, what more assurance do you need?" The blonde boy's grin widened with each word.
"You know what, you're actually right." Damian sneered down at me. "I used to envy you, but now I just pity you." With that he turned and walked away, leaving me on the ground gasping.
Those faces.
And Damian?
No, it couldn't be.
It just can't be.
With trembling legs I forced myself to stand and looked around. I was in a vast room that looked like a training area, cluttered with wooden swords and daggers and shields and other equipment, with a large platform sitting at the center. It was empty except for me, and to my left a battered punching bag hung from the ceiling, evidence of countless strikes. I looked down at my own body, covered in scrapes and bruises with bloodied knuckles.
"Hah," I sighed, still unable to make sense of any of it.
Was this some kind of nightmare?
"I don't understand a damn thing, what the hell is going on?!" My fingers tangled in my hair as panic set in. Could this be transmigration, it had to be, which meant I really had died, that godforsaken janitor had actually killed me, what in god's name had I done to deserve any of this?
Squeak.
I turned sharply to see a girl with lustrous black hair cascading down her back and eyes as red as Damian's, and she bore an unsettling resemblance to him but her gaze was something colder entirely. I quickly looked away, instinctively aware that she wasn't pleased.
"Amael," she called, her tone flat and icy as she approached.
Amael?
Was she talking to me?
But why, and why did her presence make something in me go tense, and where had I heard that name before?
Before I could think it through she stopped in front of me and scanned my battered state from head to toe.
"Who did this?" she demanded, disapproval clear on her face.
I stayed silent, because I had no idea what to say or who I even was in this body, and I didn't know if she was someone I could trust.
The silence stretched between us but her eyes showed no surprise at my lack of response.
"Why," she muttered, her gaze dropping to the floor.
"Why do you keep doing this, why do you keep shutting yourself out, why won't you talk to me, to anyone?!" Her voice cracked as tears streamed down her face.
Something stirred in my chest, an ache I hadn't expected and didn't know what to do with.
But I still couldn't speak, I could only stare at her.
"Fine, you want to be alone then so be it, I won't talk to you anymore, now I guess you can be happy, you pushed me away just like you did with the others," she sobbed, storming toward the exit.
Why did this feel so familiar?
My gaze drifted to a scatter of empty vials on the ground, and then another voice pulled me back, a man in a suit approaching like a butler. "Young, no, Mr. Amael," he corrected himself, his tone carrying something odd. "As you've been told, the young lord's coming-of-age ceremony is today, I hope you'll remain in your chambers without fail." With that he turned and left.
Amael.
Amael?
It couldn't possibly be that Amael, could it?
Who was I kidding, with all of this evidence staring me in the face I couldn't deny it any longer.