The body that I am in belongs to a young woman named Rosalite Clematis. She is the sole heir to her family’s fortune, and talented at a great number of things. While it seems as though she has everything she could ever want in the palm of her hand, there are several things that remain out of her reach. Her reputation resides with the dirt at her feet, and her life at all times hangs by a thread.
I have been in her body only a few days, and already I have figured out that everyone in this house has at one point attempted to kill her.
Was she truly so terrible that the only person that wished for her to continue living was herself? It feels like the answer should be obvious, but I find myself unsure. Something just doesn’t… sit right. Regardless, it doesn’t change the fact of the matter.
Rosalite lived as though she was being held at knife-point by the entire world.
And every step I take in her body feels like I’m walking on a frozen lake, fearing the moment I misstep and plunge to my doom.
As anyone can see, I’m having a great time.
Judging from the reactions of Rosalite’s ‘family’, I had awoken after one such assassination attempt. Except, I’m unsure whether it’s fair to still label it an ‘attempt’, considering the letter I found and the fact that it isn’t Rosalite here now, but me.
I’m still unsure exactly what has happened. I know I’m not from here, that I have a life somewhere else. I have family, and commitments. I can’t help but worry about what is happening in my absence.
If this isn’t some long, weird fever dream, and is in fact real and I have entered this world — transmigrated, if you will — then it would also be fair to assume that if there is a way in, there is a way out. Returning to my own body is a priority, but unfortunately something that is going to have to wait until I get a lead as to exactly how to go about doing that.
“My lady, I am entering.”
I’m glad she announced herself, because I completely missed the soft knock she normally does to let me know of her arrival. The door creaks open, a young girl of medium stature slipping in. She is dressed neatly in black and white, a slightly more feminine take on a traditional butler’s uniform. Her long coattails flutter behind her as she angles and closes the door behind her.
“Good morning, Thea.” I offer her a smile, and she returns it after only a second of buffering. This is a marked improvement from the first time I met her and smiled at her — she’d stood there in shock for a good ten seconds before it registered. I don’t think the old Rosalite was ever mean to her, but at the same time with the way the young maid interacts with me, I don’t think Rosalite was particularly warm either.
With the way the rest of this household treats her, however, I don’t quite blame her.
“I have brought a list of popular cafes and bakeries in the city, as you requested last night,” Thea chirps, tucking a straying lock of short honey-blonde hair back behind her ear. The light cast from the open window highlights the soft smattering of freckles over her face and brings new life to the warm brown of her eyes.
She’s awfully endearing. I wish to pinch her cheeks.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the offered paper from her hands. True to her words, there is a very long and comprehensive list scrawled neatly down the page. “I’ll be visiting one of these today — any recommendations?”
Thea seems surprised at my question, but to her credit recovers quickly. She shoots me a bright smile, delight colouring her tone. “Oh, if you would like! I am particularly fond of Moonlight Patisserie, myself.”
It’s a pretty name, and I trust Thea’s recommendation. “Thank you, Thea. I appreciate it.”
She stands a bit taller in her place with her hands behind her, back straight. Her features brighten at the acknowledgement. “Of course, my lady. Is there anything else you require of me?”
I’m quick to wave her off, having learnt a few key things over the past few days. “No, that’s alright. I know Mario-- Auntie has no doubt given you a list of things to do. You’re free to go.”
Thea bows slightly, thanking me once more before she turns on her heel and departs. The door closes so softly behind her that it emphasises the silence in the room and almost makes me miss her already.
In many ways, Thea has been assigned my personal maid. More often than not, however, Marion makes a point to keep her busy and out of reach, while simultaneously denying Rosalite more help. It’s sneaky, and rude — especially since, as I’ve found out these past few days, this house and its help are technically in Rosalite’s name — but I have a feeling that Rosalite never really bothered to do anything about it. On the one hand, that makes sense; it would probably kick up more of a fuss than its worth.
On the other hand, it makes me super mad on her behalf.
It’s lucky I’m from a modern world with knowledge on how to get myself ready, or else I would be just as humiliated as Marion likely hoped. For people of this class — nobles, really — it’s common to have extra help when getting ready. Appearance seems to be almost everything, if Marion is anything to go by.
I take a promising-looking outfit from the wardrobe, bringing it with me to the large, floor-length mirror. After holding it up and deeming it satisfactory, I slip it on and give it a twirl. It’s a simple blouse and maxi-skirt combination, but the skirts lack the volume and body that I’ve seen some women sporting. The day is warm though, and I’m not particularly interested in overheating beneath seven different layers of clothing. Stockings and low heels are added into the mix, and then I am standing before the mirror, appraising once more.
Rosalite is one of those people blessed with features that are alluring in an understated way. Warmly tanned skin, long, strong limbs and a considerable height. Her entire body is toned, athletic, but still womanly in silhouette. It seems like she maintained herself well before I came along. Although the dark, plum-hued hair grazing my back is long, it is in fantastic condition. I can barely believe it when I run my fingers through the strands easily and don’t catch sight of a single split end.
The eyes that stare back at me – her eyes, now mine – are a peculiar shade of clear jade, set in a fox-like shape that I have to admit is quite fitting for a so-called villainess. It provides an interesting contrast against the darker hues of her – my – skin and hair. Brows and lashes are dark and on the thicker side, and the face, despite rounded cheeks, is quite angular.
It’s hard to visualise exactly what I looked like before, but I’m sure it wasn’t anything like this. I tug my ears, marvelling at the multiple piercings that make their way along the edge.
I feel like an alien, as though it’s plainly obvious from the outside that I shouldn’t be here. It’s a wonder no one has suspected anything yet.
Then again, what exactly would they suspect? No one is going to jump to the conclusion that Rosalite Clematis’ sudden and drastic change is due to having her body possessed by another soul.
I fiddle with my hair for a bit before settling for something simple and pretty, and then I’m slipping my purse over my shoulder and striding for the door.
The last thing I expect is for someone to be on the other side of it, ready to knock.
“Oof!”
It’s my nose that makes contact first, the throbbing that results making me stumble back in shock. It’s not so painful, more startling — who on God’s green earth is hovering outside my door this early in the morning?!
I whip my gaze up, ready to glare, but the expression is stopped in its tracks at what I see.
Tall, and broad-shouldered with a well-defined waist and narrow hips; the armour and cloth covering this man do little to hide the muscles bulking beneath, especially over his arms and thighs. I feel so shameful for ogling his body that I immediately bring my gaze upwards, landing on a handsome, tanned face. His full lips are decorated with a shiny golden ring, a strong jaw complimented by sculpted cheekbones and a straight nose. Large, curiously hazel eyes that can’t seem to decide what colour they want to be peer back at me, framed by dark lashes and offset by thick, straight brows. His hair is such a dark, inky black it seems to suck up all the light around it, longer at the top of his head and more closely cropped down the sides. Gold glints from his ears and from one of his eyebrows.
“Who are you?”
Honestly, my brain isn’t working right now — I didn’t mean to let that slip. Up until this point I’ve been alright at not letting it show that I have no clue who anyone is. I have now ruined that record.
The man appears taken aback first by my words, and then further by my appearance when he allows a moment to survey it. It prompts another mental kick directed at myself — I didn’t think to consider whether the way I have been dressing is how the previous Rosalite dressed.
“They did mention a head injury…” he mumbles to himself, his voice a lovely rich baritone. I’m about ready to physically slap myself out of my stupor when he speaks up once more, now directing his words at me.
“I am Eden Béchalot, my lady,” he says, bowing slightly with a hand to his chest. “I have been serving as your personal guard the past two months.”
Wait, what? How did I not know of this earlier? I know I’ve had a pretty steep learning curve, but surely this isn’t something I would have missed so easily.
“Pardon?” Try as I might, I can’t remove the surprise from my voice — or my face, for that matter. “Then where have you been the past few days.”
Surprisingly, my question seems to catch him slightly off-guard. “Ah, that is… As per my contract, I am allowed a number of days leave per month so I may visit my family. They reside… a fair distance from the capital, I am afraid.”
“I see,” I hum, shifting my weight from foot to foot. To be honest, I’m not sure where to go from here. I most definitely had not accounted for his presence. I didn’t even think of the possibility, really. “Well, you may consider this an extension of your holiday. I am not in need of your services today. You may come back tomorrow.”
In all honesty, the whole reason I am even daring to venture from my room today is because I’m terribly overwhelmed. This house, for its magnificent size and design, is stuffier than a basement to me right now. Ever since a few days ago I have had to hit the ground running, and haven’t had a chance to just stop thinking about everything and anything.
Eden, who upon further inspection of his gleaming armour and impeccable stance seems to be a knight of high stature, actually sputters a little. “Pardon? My lady, if you are venturing from the manor then I must–”
“Thank you for understanding, Eden,” I cut him off, flashing him a smile and deciding that my best bet at ditching him right now is if I slip away while he’s caught off-guard. “I will be on my way now.”
“I– my lady?! Excuse me, please wait— my lady!”
I’m sorry, Mr Béchalot, but this is a trip exclusively for my mental health.
I’m definitely not going to wait; he’s just going to have to get the hint.
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