The next morning, I woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a cart. Every inch of me ached in a strange, unfamiliar way, like my bones were a size too small for my body. I opened my eyes to that same warm, golden light filtering through thick curtains and groaned.

As I stretched, I felt an odd weakness in my limbs, as if I’d suddenly transformed into a human noodle. My arms were thin, my fingers delicate and foreign. I tried to push myself up, but my head spun with the effort, and my legs wobbled as I swung them over the side of the bed. I barely managed to stand without tipping over.

Right, I thought, let’s try “walking” in this body.

I took a step. Then another, each one more cautious than the last. It was as if my muscles had gone on vacation without notifying me. I staggered over to the grand mirror I’d inspected yesterday and leaned in for a better look. Now that I was wide awake, I could take in every detail.

The girl in the mirror was, objectively, pretty. She had fair skin, blue eyes that seemed far too big for her face, and dark brown hair that fell in loose waves around her shoulders. The person in the reflection looked delicate, like a porcelain doll that might shatter if someone breathed too hard. This was me now? I frowned, then stuck my tongue out, just to see if it looked as weird as it felt. It did. So I tried a silly face—puffing up my cheeks, crossing my eyes—and laughed awkwardly at the reflection. This wasn’t helping.

A soft knock pulled me from my mirror-based self-assessment. I turned to see a young woman, probably no older than twenty, standing in the doorway. She wore a simple but neatly pressed tunic and a polite expression. “Good morning, my lady. I’ve come to assist you with your attire.”

“Assist me?” I echoed, blinking. Did she mean help me dress? I mean, I could handle putting on clothes, right?

But as she stepped inside and gestured to the dress draped over a nearby chair, my confidence took a sharp nosedive. This wasn’t just any dress. It was layers upon layers of fabric, with ties, buttons, and laces in places that made absolutely no sense. I could probably spend half the morning just trying to figure out which part went where.

“Um… sure,” I said, trying not to sound too clueless.

The servant—whose name, I learned, was Sara—began guiding me through the intricate process of donning medieval fashion. First came an undershirt, then a corset that felt like it was trying to compress my ribs into dust. “It helps with posture,” Sara explained, tightening it with surprising strength.

“Posture?” I wheezed, as she yanked another string. “Or torture?”

She stifled a giggle, though I could tell she was trying her best to stay professional. “You’ll get used to it, my lady. You’ve always been particular about your attire.”

“Is that so?” I muttered, wishing I had the comfort of a simple shirt and jeans. By the time she’d finished lacing, buttoning, and fussing, I felt like I’d been wrapped up like a medieval burrito. Standing up was a challenge, let alone trying to move with any sort of grace.

“So… how do I look?” I asked, glancing in the mirror again.

Sara beamed. “Like a proper lady of the North.”

Well, that’s something, I thought, although I still felt like a fish out of water in these heavy clothes. I glanced at Sara, trying to figure out what exactly people expected of me. “So… what do I usually do around here?”

She looked slightly surprised by the question. “Well, my lady, you often spend time with Nurse Edith, or perhaps with your embroidery.”

“Ah,” I said, nodding as if this was perfectly normal. Embroidery? Seriously? But Sara was clearly used to me acting a certain way, so I decided to play along. “Right, right. Guess I’ve been a bit… off since the fall.”

Sara nodded, understanding in her eyes. “Of course, my lady. We’re just glad you’re feeling better.”

A moment later, a short, sturdy woman with silver-streaked hair and an air of authority entered the room. She had a no-nonsense expression and carried a basket full of herbs and ointments. “Lady Liana, let me look at you.”

This had to be Nurse Edith. She reminded me of a school principal who took her job very seriously. She inspected me with sharp eyes, checking my forehead, patting my cheeks, even feeling my hands. I sat there quietly, feeling like a very oversized toddler being fussed over.

“You still look pale, but that’s nothing unusual for you, dear. Always been delicate, haven’t you?” She clicked her tongue. “Best stick to lighter activities for now.”

“Lighter activities?” I asked, trying to sound interested.

She nodded. “No vigorous riding or running about. We don’t want you falling ill again, do we?”

Apparently, the previous Liana hadn’t been the healthiest girl around. I wondered if that was why everyone seemed so protective, like I might faint at any moment.

“Yes, of course,” I said, trying to reassure her. “I’ll… take it easy.”

Edith softened a little, patting my hand in a grandmotherly way. “Good girl. Remember, your health comes first.”

Once she finished her examination, she gave me a warm smile and left, muttering about making a special tonic to strengthen my constitution. I watched her go, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and mild horror. The previous Lady Liana had probably just gone along with all of this, but I was already itching for some freedom.

Once alone, I decided to inspect my room a little more closely. The place was large and elaborately decorated, but there was a distinct layer of dust on nearly everything. The curtains looked like they hadn’t been washed in years, and the smell of stale air hung faintly in the corners. I wrinkled my nose.

Did no one here care about cleanliness? As I ran my finger along the wooden dresser, it came away gray with dust. I shuddered. I couldn’t even imagine what the rest of the castle looked like if this was the standard for a noble’s room.

A sudden determination flared up inside me. I might be stuck in this body and this world, but I didn’t have to live in filth. I could bring some basic hygiene to this place, at the very least.

But where to start? Cleaning supplies didn’t seem to be on hand, and it wasn’t as if I could just waltz down to the nearest medieval pharmacy and ask for a disinfectant.

With a sigh, I left my room to explore a bit, taking careful, ladylike steps to avoid tripping on my dress. The halls were grand but had the same musty, neglected air as my room. Servants bustled around, each focused on their tasks, and I took in their expressions—exhausted, focused, sometimes indifferent.

I caught sight of a young maid dusting a vase, and she gave me a respectful curtsy as I approached. I tried to engage her in conversation, asking about the castle’s cleaning routines and if they used any kind of soap or disinfectant. The maid looked at me as if I’d just asked her to juggle flaming torches.

“We… we use a damp cloth, my lady,” she said, hesitating as if unsure if that answer would please me.

“That’s all?” I tried not to let my dismay show. “And… the bedding, curtains, and… floors?”

She tilted her head, clearly bewildered by my concern. “We air things out once a season, my lady.”

“Once a season?” My voice came out louder than I intended, and I cleared my throat, trying to act nonchalant. “I see. Thank you.”

The maid scampered off, probably thinking I was a bit mad, but I didn’t care. I’d lived my life in a spotless lab with every chemical in its proper place. And now, here I was, in a medieval castle that hadn’t even discovered basic cleanliness. The chemical engineer in me itched to dive into problem-solving mode.

As I wandered back to my room, my mind raced with possibilities. If I could somehow make soap… maybe even a simple antiseptic… it would be a start. I didn’t have all the fancy ingredients I was used to, but I had my knowledge and the resources of a duchy at my disposal. I could make this work.

Alright, another world, I thought, smirking a little to myself. You’re in for some serious spring cleaning.