The tutor was some guy in his mid twenties, tan complexion and long black hair tied back in a low ponytail. He made the absurd choice of wearing robes as if he were some stupid wizard. Maybe there is magic in this world after all? If Nadia mentioned him in her incessant rambles about the novel, he must not have made much of an impression.

“What’s your name?”

 I wondered how many lessons they could have had so far. How odd it must be for him to even be asked that question.

“Allen Cortez, your father hired me to teach you magic,” he replied.

I detected a touch of amusement in his voice. He was either being helpful or making fun of me. 

“Have you finally decided to talk to me,” he added in a mock serious tone. “It will make the lessons easier.”

I guess Anastasia had decided to ignore her teacher. I could sort of understand why.

As far as the lesson was concerned, I had fully intended to ignore him but when he started talking about rituals I found myself at least half listening. It takes a special kind of person to learn magic and preliminary tests had shown that at the very least Anastasia could have the aptitude for it. I began to take a mental note of it but I figured nothing I heard would matter once I woke up, which was definitely going to happen soon. 

The lesson continued. Apparently, simple spells don’t have a set incantation, or specific word in order to cast the spell. His example was a simple light spell, it was supposed to create a small ball of light that a person can hold in their hand. Most people say light or sight to cast the spell. What matters in those kinds of spells is the intent and the power behind the caster. 

I chuckled to myself thinking the word “blinding” over and over. I did not expect anything to happen but as he was talking, I began to see something bright out of the corner of my eye. The guy seemed taken aback. 

My hand was glowing. 

Not knowing how to make my hand stop glowing, I may have panicked a bit and maybe fallen off my chair. There may even have been screaming involved. However, I handled the shock with as much grace as I could given that my hand was glowing!

 I felt the Allen guy grab my hand for a second. When he pulled away, my hand had stopped glowing.

“That is the most progress you have ever made,” he commented mildly.

What an assh***.

 I don’t even know how magic works and I bet that the author doesn’t know either. 

I took some time to calm down. 

The rest of the lesson went more smoothly. The guy warned against using magic carelessly, reminding what had happened to my hair with that fire spell.

 Anastasia set her own hair on fire. I almost wish that the novel had followed her instead of the orange-hair main character.

After the class, I was led into a dining room twice the size of my apartment. I barely even glanced at the paintings and the overly large table as I sat down. At this point the opulence is besides the point. I guess there are some perks to dreaming… but is this really a dream? Something was starting to feel wrong, wouldn’t any normal dream be over by now?

The man in front of me has dark blue hair because that’s a normal hair color. Anastasia did not look anything like her father. He was paler than her, his eyes were a dark blue, tall and honestly kind of intimidating. Does he not have a neutral face? He looked like he was glaring at the maid bringing his food. I bet that lady was glad to leave the room.

I half expected him to sit on the other end of the table so we could awkwardly stare each other down but he sat next to me. I noticed his black suit which I guess is the only thing fancy dudes are allowed to wear and a faint smell that reminded me of leather. Why is men’s fashion so boring?  

I braced myself for him to start talking at me but he just sat down and began to eat. I couldn’t even look at the plate in front of me without feeling sick. Surely, he made sure to teach his daughter proper etiquette, none of which I would know. How could I act like his spawn if I knew next to nothing about her?

 Did I have to talk?

 Did he expect me to talk? 

How did Anastasia get along with her parents anyways?

 The minutes passed slowly and he continued to eat but I couldn’t even pick up the fork. Hell, why was there more than one fork? The room was massive but there was not enough room anymore as the man put down his fork and stared at me quizzically. 

“You have not visited your mother once since she fell ill,” he said and I could not tell if it was an admonishment or if he was just making conversation.

“I have been avoiding it, seeing her ill would be too painful.” I forced out but honestly I had no idea why Anastasia didn’t want to see her mother.

 His eyebrows rose. I guess that’s not what he expected me to say. He seemed to consider my words. 

“That makes sense,” I heard him say under his breath. 

Was he doubting my excuse?

How the f*** would I know why Anastasia did not want to see her mother? For all I knew, she could have been avoiding her because she thought germs were gross. What is wrong with the mother anyways?

In a normal tone he continued to talk, “She has been waiting for you to visit.”

As I was struggling to come up with a reply, he picked up a fork and handed it to me. At least now I know which fork to use.

“Sir Cortez tells me you have made progress in your magic class,” he said as if he knew it was time to change the subject. 

“All I did was repeat some words,” I say.

“You must have done a lot more than that,” a touch of amusement entered his voice. “Magic is more than repeating words. It is intent and force of will. I believe you could be a great Sorceress if you took the time to practice. That will make you worthy of the crown prince, but I’m getting ahead of myself. What are you, eight?”

Ah yes, the crown prince. The guy who is destined to fall in love with some servant girl. Yeah, being worthy of that guy must be great. 

The other thing that caught my attention was that he said Anastasia was eight. None of the plot relevant stuff happens until the age of 17 or 18, maybe. Hopefully enough time for me to wake up so I don’t have to take part in this story.

The rest of the lunch went well. He talked about his expectations for me and I listened. I hoped I would not be around to have to live up to those expectations. While a more competitive side of me was almost feeling inspired

If I could meet those goals and surpass them, could I become more than what Anastasia was in the novel?

What would I do if I had to play the villain?

 How much freedom did I have in this world anyways?  

After lunch, I had more lessons but with a different teacher. An older woman whose gray hair was in a tight bun. Strange how the most normal hair color so far was on an old woman, not that her hair could not have been purple a few years ago. I didn’t bother asking her name. She was there to teach me etiquette, something I assume Anastasia should have been learning for a while but my lack of aptitude did not seem to surprise this teacher. 

Was Anastasia a really difficult person to teach? I guess she IS eight years old. The expectations on this child are ridiculous.

After that lesson, I decided to go see Anastasia’s mother. At least that is what my intention was but a solid hour of wandering made me realize that I underestimated the size of this family’s estate. The hallways were long and some were decorated with paintings of Anastasia’s father and an older red haired woman. They were sitting in chairs, on sofas, laying down on some flowers. There was a picture of the woman doing a handstand with so much detail on the way her long skirt and layers fell. I was beginning to wonder if there were any images of Anastasia herself when I found them. They ranged in age from baby, to toddler and child. Some were with her father, some her mother and some with both. There was a painting of the child with a butterfly on top of her head. What drew me to that painting was the background, the child was sitting on the railing of a balcony and in the distance I saw a round ferris wheel looking thing. The setting of the story continued to confuse me.

Between the paintings were pillar looking things with vases and potted plants along some corners. The nicer hallways had giant long rugs with little intricate patterns on them and some with flower patterns on them. The walls were tall and painted a deep red in color that honestly I found quite odd. It was probably the reason the hallways were so dark even while having a bunch of lightbulbs. I guess the world does have electricity after all. 

Looking around more, I found dead ends with nice looking sofas and small tables.

 I passed by windows, showing a distant city. The estate must have been on a mountain judging by how small the buildings looked. Another window showed me the round thing and it was definitely a ferris wheel. I had to force myself away from the window and I would have kept looking if it wasn’t for the maid tracking me down to inform me it was time to go to bed. 

How had the day passed so quickly?

 As I was struggling to get out of my dress with the help of the maid lady, I wondered how easy it would be to live Anastasia’s life.

I was already doing better than her and I barely did anything. 

I could live out Anastasia’s life better than she ever could. My last thought as I fell asleep was that thinking like this would be really awkward if I woke up tomorrow as my real self.