It has been a few days since Amy found herself transported to another world. And to her own surprise, she was adjusting to her new environment relatively well. She walked down a long, decorated hallway, with tall windows and sunlight spilling across the polished floors. Elegant vases brimming with fresh flowers adorned ornate pedestals. With Classical-style paintings, depicting noble figures and historical battles of this world, hung in gilded frames along the walls. At Least that's what she thought they were.

  She slowed her steps, fingers grazing the edge of a small table as her thoughts drifted back when she arrived.

  After the maid left the room in a panic, Amy barely had a moment to collect her thoughts before the heavy doors swung open again. A man, tall and broad-shouldered with salt and peppered hair, rushed inside. His coat decorated with medals and accolades was wrinkled and disorganized, as if he’d run all the way here. Tears streamed freely down his face, the moment he saw Amy, his expression twisted with overwhelming emotion.

  “Amelia!” he cried.

  He stumbled to Amy’s bedside. Dropped to one knee and grasped her hand tightly in his own, like a man gripping a lifeline.

  “I can’t believe it—you’re awake! You’re finally awake!”

  Amy blinked, startled by the sudden display of affection from a stranger she doesn’t completely know. She pulled her hand away instinctively.

  The Man froze, eyes widening in disbelief. “Amelia…?”

  Amy then shifted as far away from him as the bed would allow, pressing against the headboard.

  “Sorry,” she said cautiously, “who are you? And… where am I?”

  The man looked like he had been stabbed. Slowly, he raised both of his hands to point at himself.

  “It’s me. Your father,” he said gently, “You’re in your bedroom, in the Mayders Ducal Estate at the Capital. You truly don’t remember me?”

  Amy hesitated, her lips parting slightly. There’s no use pretending, she thought.

  She gave a small shake of her head. “No… I’m sorry. I don’t.”

  The man—Tabias Dawson Mayders, if she remembered the name right—turned his face away, struggling to compose himself. He took a deep breath, swallowing the grief that welled in his throat.

  “This isn’t right,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. Then he turned towards the maid, who had been standing by the door the entire time, eyes wide.

  “Denise,” he said urgently. “Get Dr. West, from my office. Immediately.”

  The maid bowed deeply in response.

  She looked to be around the same age as Amy’s new body, around eighteen or nineteen. Her auburn hair was neatly tied back, not a strand out of place, and she wore delicate black-rimmed glasses that framed her eyes with surprising softness.

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  Her voice, smooth and warm like salted caramel, answered with calm precision, “Yes, sir.”

  Amy gently turned a vase, so that the painted portrait of the woman on its surface now faced her. Satisfied, she then leaned forward to adjust the arrangement of flowers, repositioning them until the bouquet matched the vision in her mind.

  It was a small ritual she’d developed over the last few days—something that grounded her, giving her a strange sense of peace.

  Just as she placed the final flower, a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “My Lady,” said Denise softly, her tone formal but warm, “the Duke is requesting for your presence in his office.”

  Amy glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, I see,” she replied, adjusting one last leaf with care. “I’ll head there now.”

  Denise gave a deep bow before turning on her heel and head towards the corridor that led to the Duke’s office. After taking a slow, steadying breath, Amy followed, her steps light and measured, trailing three paces behind.

  They moved through a series of high-arched doors and elegantly decorated hallways. Sunlight dances through stained-glass windows, painting the floor in fragments of color. As they walked, Amy let her mind wander once more.

  Last time I saw him… it was with the doctor, I think? She thought as she followed Denise through the winding halls.

  She remembered it well—Dr. West had performed a thorough health assessment, checking her reflexes, her eyes, gently probing for any signs of lasting damage from being in a coma for a very long time. In the end, he turned to the Duke to report his findings: physically, she was healthy. Normal, even. The major concern was with her memory loss… an issue that was another matter entirely.

  He’d explained that, as far as their current knowledge, there was no known cure for her “affliction.” No potion, no spell, no herbal remedy. Only time, familiar surroundings, and exposure to personal records or cherished mementos might help restore what was lost.

  The Duke hadn’t taken the news lightly. His brow furrowed with frustration, his fist clenched tightly at his side. And yet, he maintained his composure. After thanking the doctor for his service, he turned to her and placed a hand on her shoulder—awkwardly, but with a surprising tenderness—and promised, “I’ll return soon.”

  Then he walked out of the room without another word.

  How many days has it been? She wondered. Five? Six? One thing is for certain—I’m still not used to calling him “Father.”

  Her gaze drifted along the intricate tapestries that lined the corridor walls, each one depicting stories and symbols she had yet to understand. Marble statues stood in quite watchfulness, their expressions caught somewhere between solemnity and pride. Everything here was foreign, ancient, and dignified… it only deepened the surreal fog she’d been living in.

  She still couldn’t shake the feeling that she was playing a part in someone else’s life—a noblewoman’s life.

  And in truth, she was.

  Denise came to a halt before a tall, double oak door—its surface darkened with age and carved with the crest of House Mayders. With grace, she raised a hand and knocked three times, the sound echoing softly through the quiet hallway.

  “Lord Duke,” she announced. “Lady Amelia is here.”

  A brief silence followed, thick with anticipation. Then came the reply, muffled but firm.

  “Alright. Let her in.”

  Denise turned to Amy, her expression unreadable but respectful.

  “My Lady?” she asked gently, hands already resting on the door handles, poised to open them at her signal.

  Amy took a slow, deliberate breath, getting rid the tension on her shoulders. She gave a small nod of acknowledgement.

  “I’m ready,” she said—whether to Denise or herself, she wasn’t quite sure.

  With that, the doors creaked open, revealing the Duke’s office. Amy stepped inside, unsure of what awaited her on the other side.