How Do You Do, Sire?

The room felt still, as though time itself had decided to pause, letting every detail linger in the air, thick with the unspoken. The golden light from the windows seemed to hang in the air, casting long shadows across the opulent surroundings. Everything was too polished, too perfect, and yet it felt… wrong.

"Ah, by the way, Maya," I murmured, my voice distant, my gaze still drifting over the lavish room. The intricate furniture, the heavy curtains, the oversized bed—all of it felt like a mockery to me. I wasn't really looking at her, lost in the fog of my own thoughts, still trying to make sense of the situation. "Did my parents ever visit me?"

I knew her answer would be about her parents, not mine, but the question slipped from my lips all the same. There was a hollow ache in my chest as I asked it, a sadness I couldn't shake. The reality of it, that the parents I remembered—those who had loved me and I originally treasured—my own—were gone, was a sharp sting I hadn't fully allowed myself to feel until now.

The question hung in the air, but there was no urgency to it.

"The Duke, my lady," Maya responded, her voice trembling slightly as if she anticipated my reaction. "He was here while you were asleep."

The Duke. My mind barely registered the title, but something about it sparked a flicker of recognition—a piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit. I turned my attention to her.

"The... Duke." My voice trailed off, more of a statement than a question when I said it.

Right!

I already know I've taken something that isn't mine—a place, a name, an entire identity. It's just a lot to process right now. I'm not in denial, far from it. I'm willing to accept it… I just need a little time to let it all sink in.

"Yes, my lady," she replied, her head lowered as she clasped the cloth and basin in her hands. "I would like to assist my lady now, if that's fine?"

Her hands trembled, barely holding onto the items in her grasp. I nodded slowly, allowing the familiar rhythm of routine to take over. I had been through this before—these motions, this chilling sense of detachment. It was all too familiar, even though my only true memory of it was from a time when I was conscious, yet not fully awake.

As the other maids entered, it was as if I were falling back into a preordained pattern. They helped me into a simple day gown, and once finished, they left once given permission, just as quickly as they had appeared. The physician had come earlier, too, his voice echoing in my mind.

"Do not strain yourself. Rest. You've just woken up."

Woken up.

But everything felt wrong. The world around me felt alien—its language, its customs, its very existence. The more I thought about it, the more disconnected I felt from it all.

What kind of world am I in? What time?

I had asked them about phones and computers as they tend to me, but they had no understanding of what I meant. The blank stares, the uncomfortable silences—they confirmed what I'd already started to suspect.

Ah, I wasn't in my time. Probably a different world, too.

How? And why?

A gnawing, gnashing feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. There was a growing realization, a whisper of truth that refused to be ignored.

I died, didn't I?

Hours passed. The food arrived, the maids left, and I sat motionless, the weight of this new reality pressing in on me.

I sat there, staring blankly ahead, as the pieces fell into place. My body, this room, this strange world—they were all foreign, yet I could speak their language. I could understand them. As if I had always known them.

I closed my eyes, the air seemed heavier now, the silence pressing in from all sides. 

The cliché of dying and awakening in another's body, in a world not my own—it happened to me.

The realization washed over me like an icy tide. It was a certainty.

I was dead!

The thought flickered in my mind, distant but insistent. My death—so trivial, so unremarkable and pathetic. A death that I couldn't even remember clearly, only that it had happened while I was asleep—hungry.

A death that had left me here, in this unfamiliar body. 

The ticking of the clock became louder, as if each passing second counted. The shadows in the room stretched, creeping across the floor, making the time seem like it was passing far too slowly.

I stood slowly, my legs heavy, my thoughts muddled. The mirror called to me. I didn't want to face it—not yet. But something inside me—curiosity, maybe, or fear—pushed me forward.

With each step, I felt the weight of my own disbelief. I wasn't ready for this, but I couldn't stop myself. Slowly, I made my way to the mirror, my body moving against my will, as if it was on its own path, pulling me into the inevitable.

I stood frozen before the mirror, my breath catching in my throat. The reflection before me was… foreign, yet the soul felt hauntingly familiar.

I had always been considered beautiful in my past life—Asian by descent, with delicate features that hinted at both youth and wisdom. I had a body that I took care of, the kind that earned me glances and lingering looks. My face, though not striking in the way models might be, held a quiet elegance that people noticed. I had never thought of myself as extraordinary, but I knew I was considered attractive. My curves were subtle yet elegant, the contours of my body enviable—a result of dedication and hard work at the gym. There was a quiet confidence in my skin that I had taken for granted.

But this... this woman in the mirror? She was no longer just beautiful. She was beyond anything I had ever seen.

Her wavy raven-black hair cascaded down her back like a midnight waterfall, smooth and glossy, as if it had been spun from silk. It framed her face in soft waves, accentuating the sharp angles of her features—the high cheekbones, the small, perfectly shaped nose, and the full, bow-shaped lips that promised secrets, a smile that beckoned and warned all at once.

Her eyes. They were not the soft, dark eyes I was used to. These were amber, almost golden, with an otherworldly glow that pulsed with a secret power. They were alluring, hypnotic even, holding a depth that spoke of both innocence and danger. A strange combination, like a siren, capable of drawing you in with a song so sweet yet lethal.

Her face—small, delicate, and undeniably beautiful—was more than just pretty. It held an aura that was magnetic, something primal and enchanting. The softness and paleness of her skin seemed too perfect, too smooth for someone so young, as though time had graciously paused for her, preserving her beauty in a way that was almost too unreal to believe.

But it was her body, my body now, that took my breath away. The hourglass figure, the curves that could stop hearts. It wasn't just a well-toned body—it was sculpted, as though the gods themselves had molded it from marble. It was not just youthful or graceful. It was something more. There was an elegance to it, but also a sensuality, a promise of something forbidden.

Her frame, slender yet curvaceous, was the kind of beauty that wasn't just meant to be admired. It was made to be desired.

I was struck by the stark difference between this new reflection and the person I had been. In my past life, I had been admired for my subtle beauty. But this woman, this being in the mirror—she wasn't just admired. She demanded attention. Her presence was intoxicating, dangerous in the most seductive way, and though her body was that of a teenager, it held a maturity in its aura, a tantalizing promise of what she would become once fully grown. How much more alluring would she be when she was ripe, when the years would refine her, and this youthful glow would turn into the irresistible charm of a woman who knew the power she wielded?

How much more stunning she would be when time finally caught up to her—how much more captivating this body would become once it had tasted experience, once the innocence faded, and the allure deepened.

This was not just the body of a young woman. This was a goddess in the making, a siren just waiting for the right moment to reveal herself fully.

The thought sent a chill down my spine. The reflection in the mirror held something in her gaze, something dangerous.

I stood there, mesmerized by the reflection. This wasn't me. I wasn't her.

And yet, I was.

What was her name again? I remember they mentioned it before I collapsed the other day, but I hadn't really paid attention, too overwhelmed by the shock of it all. Did they say Irene?

No… Wait. It was Aerin.

I am now trapped in this body—this vessel of allure—and the sensation was both terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

But there's one question that haunts me, a question I can't ignore.

What happened to her?

Where is the soul of the one whose body I now inhabit?