It got harder and harder to breathe. As if an invisible hand was choking my neck, my desperate gasps became futile, and my chest tightened to the point where I could feel nothing but scorching heat piercing through my heart. I was falling. It was the least I can tell. Each intense brush of air slashed through my skin, and it was a relief that it didn’t bleed yet. My head was spinning like a Ferris wheel, and I am half certain that it was all deranged in my insides. Spikes of heat continued to devour me; I could only squish my eyes to cope with and for the somewhere unknown to greet me.

It will soon be over.

My eyes finally opened but the seizing pain in the chest continued to linger around where the pounding of my racing heart echoed in my ears. My hands were soaked with sweat as I tried to wipe away strands of hair that stuck on my forehead with sweat. It was burning. In terror, my eyes widened, flickering from side to side when I realized that I was lying flat, with my legs covered with warm, cotton blanket on almost a king-sized bed in an endless room with lavish decorations: crimson velvet drapery on towering windows, flower patterned carpet which filled the entire room and impressively sophisticated floral and foliate curved on the corners of the chamber. Settling down, my lungs finally got a hold of air; I released a sigh. An opulent fragrance of roses served in porcelain vase on the right of the bed got overwhelmed by the intoxicatingly strong smell of herbs, ointments and potions.

Suddenly, there was a knock. A gentle hesitated knock as the door creaked afterwards. Almost like a cat with its delicate paws taking a leisurely stroll, the footsteps were silent, sneaky and careful.

I held my breath, uncertain of what was going to happen next. The footsteps grew louder as the person ran up to me. Wavy silver hair that resembled the clear crystal dazzling under the beam of sunlight, her set of Amethyst eyes that sparkled as she saw me and her ruby lips which widened into a gentle grin; how could I not remember such lovely girl?

“Ophelia!” She fell into my arms and continued to hug me tight, her hands held up around my waist.

“You are finally awake!” she shouted joyfully.

“How do you feel? Is there anything you would like to eat?” she cupped my cheeks with her warm hands. Stunted at the moment, I could only answer her with bewildered look.

She is the real thing. Her voice as soft as winter’s snowflake, as smooth as honey and as lovely as a mother’s lullaby and the way her gestures seemed elegant yet effortless; these descriptions were picture perfect for her, the heroine of the novel “The Blissed Hero”, Sophia.

“Young Lady, Ophelia!”

A loud cry flinched our shoulders: both Sophia and mine as middle-aged woman in a neat attire rushed into the room. She knelt down on the side of the bed as Sophia made her way to sit on the soft mattress.

“Has the fever gone down yet?” the lady carefully placed her palm on my forehead; it was cold, yet I felt the warmth leaking from it. “I will call a physician.” Before she got up, I reached for her hand.

“Excuse me, would you mind telling me where I am right now?”

Their faces went pale as if they had seen a ghost, but I was quite certain that I might actually look like one now.

“Sister, get a hold of yourself.” Sophia held my shoulders tightly.

“Oh my.” the lady exclaimed, “Being unconscious for 3 days straight might have made our young lady to have some screws loose.”

Unconscious. For 3 days. Those words echoed in my ears and suddenly my eyelids became heavy, and I couldn’t recall what happened afterwards.

After spending a week in this enormous manor with the antique architecture that one would see in history book and with my so-called sister, “Sophia”, I finally held a grasp of my situation. Apparently, I had reincarnated into none other than my favourite novel, “The Blissed Hero” as a side character engaged with the novel’s villain, suffered from a serious illness and conveniently passed away for the villain who had his eyes on my twin sister, Sophia. And to my knowledge I reincarnated five years before my so-called death, which somehow acted as a starting point for the story.

My name is Ophelia. Ophelia Paxton Eruditean.

And the man sitting across the dining table was none other than the twins’ father; the Marquess Trevor Eruditean. Across this long table, sumptuous feast stood between me and the Marquess as the cold atmosphere coexisted with mouth-watering aroma of the food.

“Are the herbs from North working properly?” he asked; his eyes only focusing on the grilled beef on his platter.

“They seem to be.” I replied.

There was no comment afterwards.

As I expected.

Ever since the day I woke up from Ophelia’s mattress, I forced myself in Ophelia’s shoes because that’s the only way to survive, well at least the only way to live before the destined death. Convenient enough, I recovered the memories of Ophelia: from her medicine and herbs that were required to be taken daily, her love for Sophia and her father and every single minute detail about them. And combining it with the knowledge of the novel I possessed, I could slip into the life of the mask, “Ophelia” with such ease and became her.

Cough Called it my instinct, I covered my mouth and quickly looked my palm. Slightly I shook my head as I squeaked a weak chuckle. That’s right. I had five years left to live and I would not die so easily before then. Moreover, I did not have people who would grieve over me.

I looked at the Marquess. Stern face with no sight of emotion, he did not seem to notice the missing chair on his left. Sophia was not present.

“Butler.” I called to the old, slim man standing at the corner of the door. “Where is Sophia?”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment as he quickly peeked at the Marquess in his undisturbed meal. “Lady Sophia said she would not be able to join dinner because she had to practice dancing.”

“I see.” At that moment, I could not understand why. In Ophelia’s memories, Sophia was very fond of her father. Very much that she would wait for his presence in every dinner. Ophelia too was. They two were surely pathetic, losing their mother before they could even open their eyes and now starving for their father’s love.

“Sophia, are you there?” after dinner, I knocked at the dancing hall where she had her etiquette lessons every day while I spent my days and nights in the chamber. There were no reply instead shallow, rapid breaths filled the hall. I quietly twisted the doorknob.

Quickly, I surveyed the empty hall where the chandeliers sprinkled nothing but dust under moonlight, large window panels which displayed stars on the dark sky and Sophia.

Sophia under the moonlight. Swirling her drapery dress as her pointed feet hopped into the thin air; it almost looked like a fairy surrounded by petals of rose, blossoming under moon. With her alert eyes scanning the floor ahead of her, elegantly she turned, her whole body in sync.

She was beautiful. More than beautiful. And perfect.

Thought of controlling my own body weakened me, this body could never, I could never. I looked at my own limbs. They could never fly freely as Sophia did, with strength and grace.

As if I were a child reaching for a faraway star, I could only gaze from this far.

A night had passed, and a morning came. Time slipped away from my hands as if it were sand. I finally got out of my chamber which locked me up with nauseating smell of herbs that they called priceless. Nevertheless, I filled my lungs with air till it could no longer in this bright study room and began to scribble about my past, present and future. In my past when I binged read my favourite novel, there was a chapter which informed about the timeline and an oracle. An oracle from heaven itself to warn humans about the birth of a hero, holy one who would take down the great evil. It was yet to be announced until the next 5 years. The Dawn of the hero where the hero would meet with a lovely maiden, Sophia and conquered the great evil with the power of love. And that great evil was-

“Young Lady Ophelia.” a knock came. “There’s a bouquet for you.”

I raised my eyebrow. I would not lie; that excited me a little since I had never gotten a flower from certain someone let alone a whole bouquet.

"Who is it from?" I asked as the maid entered the room and placed a bouquet of white lilies on the desk.

"There's also a handwritten note attached," she said, her speech muffled by the flowers.

“It is from your fiancé, Lord Nicholas Vespertine.”