Seraphina’s POV

I jolted awake, startled by the sound of footsteps and voices around me. My heart raced as I tried to process what I was hearing. I was in my room just a moment ago, wasn’t I? But the sound of a woman laughing and the faint sound of footsteps snapped me out of my thoughts.

This wasn’t right.

My room was locked, and no one could have gotten in by this time. Ready to lash out at whoever thought it was funny to invade my privacy in the middle of the night, I opened my eyes fully with the intention to look around, but as soon as I did, my breath caught in my throat.

I wasn’t in my room anymore.

The bed I’d fallen asleep on was gone, replaced by a strange, black-and-white sofa that was stiff and unfamiliar under me.

Confused, I sat up, the panic rising in my chest.

The murmurs continued, now clearer than before, and I turned my head to see figures moving in the distance.

The first thing I noticed was the lack of color. Everything around me—the walls, the floor, the furniture—was in black and white, as though I’d been dropped into an old movie from the ancient days.

I rubbed my eyes, hoping to shake off the creepy monochrome, but nothing changed. My heart pounded as I looked around, trying to make sense of what I was seeing, and then I noticed them.

People were walking past me so casually, almost as though they didn’t notice me at all, and I could instantly tell that they weren’t strangers, at least, not completely.

I recognized the uniforms they had on as the uniforms of the house servants in my family home in Aldoria, and for a moment, I was frozen in place.

This wasn’t just any house. This was my house—my family’s estate. Everything was here, and yet, something about it felt… off.

“Hello?” I called out to a servant who was walking just in front of me. “Excuse me, can you stop for a moment?”

The girl walked straight past me, not even glancing in my direction, and my chest tightened. I turned, watching her retreating figure. She hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t even blinked at my presence.

“Hello?” I tried again, my voice louder this time.

I stepped closer to another servant, a young man arranging a vase of flowers on a side table. “You there! Do you hear me?”

Nothing.

I tried again, louder this time, forcing my voice to steady itself. “Excuse me!” I called, hoping that by some miracle, I’d be able to get his attention.

Nothing.

It was as if my words had dissipated into thin air before they even reached his ears.

I took another step closer, this time reaching out toward a girl with a tray. “Please, just stop for a moment.”

The second my fingers brushed against her, a sharp sting ran through my hand. I yelped and pulled back as though I’d been burned. My palm throbbed faintly, even though when I checked it, there was no visible mark.

“What the hell?” I muttered to myself, holding my hand against my chest.

The girl on the other hand didn’t even flinch. She walked on, oblivious to my presence, and my mind reeled as I stumbled backward, my breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

What in the world was going on?

I turned in a slow circle, my eyes scanning the living room area. It wasn’t just the servants ignoring me; the entire place felt… different. Way too different. The furniture was slightly out of place and very different from the one I knew, and some other things lying around that I didn’t even recognize.

Was this still my home, or some distorted version of it?

“Is this a dream?” I whispered to myself, the words trembling as they left my lips.

I pinched the skin on my arm hard, wincing at the sharp pain, but nothing changed, and the grayscale world remained.

My heart sank. If this wasn’t a dream, then what was it? A nightmare? Another dumb trick by that dumb voice?

I wandered aimlessly through the hall with the intention of trying to figure out what was going on, but as I approached the stairway, a voice—a very familiar voice—broke through my train of thoughts.

“Be sure to set the flowers properly in her room. She always liked fresh lilies by her bedside.”

I froze mid-step, my breath catching in my throat. That voice. It couldn’t be. Slowly, almost fearfully, I looked up the stairway.

Coming down from the steps was a woman I hadn’t seen in years—a woman I thought I’d never see again. My mother.

“Mom?” The word escaped me before I had a chance to stop it, and my throat tightened with emotion.

She didn’t look at me. She was speaking to another servant, gesturing toward a vase of lilies in her hands. “Make sure the petals aren’t bruised. She likes them perfect.”

“Mom!” I called louder this time, taking a step forward. My voice cracked, tears threatening to spill. “It’s me! Seraphina!”

Still, she didn’t turn. Didn’t acknowledge me, and my chest ached as I watched her descend the last step, her focus entirely on the servant.

The urge to run to her overwhelmed me, but the memory of the sting when I’d touched the other servant held me back. What if the same thing happened with her? What if I couldn’t reach her either?

She turned toward the hall, walking past me with the faintest smile on her lips. “Make sure the dining table is set for six. We’ll have guests this evening,” she said to no one in particular.

“Mom, please!” I pleaded, following her as she moved through the hall. “I’m right here! Can’t you hear me? It’s Seraphina! I’m right here!”

She paused for a moment, her hand grazing the edge of the table, and at the sudden pause, my heart leapt. Had she heard me? Would she turn and see me standing just a few feet away?

But instead, she sighed softly and straightened a crooked candleholder before continuing toward wherever she was headed.

I stopped in my tracks, my shoulders slumping in defeat. She was here, right in front of me, yet she felt unreachable. A sob rose in my throat, and I swallowed it down, clenching my fists at my sides in anger.

My fists were clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. My mother—my mother—was right there, walking around the room, giving out instructions as though she hadn’t been gone for years.

She was close enough to touch, and yet it was impossible.

The woman I was looking at, though, was much younger than I remembered my mother to be. I figured that this had to be a version of her from ten or maybe twenty years ago—radiant, energetic, and seemingly oblivious to the grief her absence had left behind in my life.

It took everything in me not to collapse into tears. I wanted to cry, to scream, to reach out and grab her by the shoulders and make her see me, but no matter how hard I tried, I knew it would be useless. I was invisible to her.

As I wrestled with my thoughts, the door to the room opened, and a servant stepped in. She curtsied politely before speaking.

“My lady,” the servant said. “A visitor is here to see you.”

My mother paused, turning toward the servant. Her expression remained composed, but I noticed the slight arch of her brow. “A visitor? Is it the guest we were expecting? Is she here already?”

“No, my lady,” the servant replied. “It is someone else. She introduced herself as Solara.”

My mother’s expression shifted ever so slightly—just a flicker of something in her eyes. Recognition? Concern? It was hard to tell.

“Solara?” she repeated, her tone quieter now, almost reflective. She seemed to consider something for a moment before nodding. “Escort her to the garden at the back of the house. I’ll meet her there shortly.”

“Yes, my lady.” The servant curtsied again and left the room, leaving my mother standing there, her hands clasped loosely in front of her. She stared at nothing in particular, her expression unreadable.

I didn’t recognize the name at all, but clearly, my mother did. Who was this person, and why had her name drawn that reaction?

My mother’s poise was unshaken, but there was something in her demeanor—a tension in her shoulders—that hadn’t been there moments ago.

Whoever this person was, she was important enough to warrant a private meeting in the garden, and my mother’s reaction told me that this visit wasn’t entirely expected.

I followed as my mother left the room, my steps instinctively trailing hers.

As we arrived at the gazebo in the middle of the garden, she paused for a moment before stepping up and settling into one of the benches.

The worried crease in her brow caught my attention immediately. She looked calm outwardly, but her hands rested in her lap, her fingers lightly twisting the edge of her gown, which was a sign she was stressing.

I remembered that nervous tic from my childhood, watching her in moments when she tried to mask her anxieties.

Before I could dwell too much, the sound of approaching footsteps pulled me from my thoughts. I turned my head and spotted the servant returning, guiding someone through the garden gates.

My heart jumped. This had to be Solara.

At first, I could only make out her silhouette, but as the servant led her down the stone pathway, and with each step closer, her features became clearer.

And then my breath caught in my throat.

No, it couldn’t be.

When the woman stepped fully into view, my knees almost gave out under me. My jaw dropped, and I instinctively reached out to steady myself on the nearest tree.

Her face… It was her face.

Electra’s face.

The resemblance was uncanny. The shape of her jaw, her lips, eyes, and nose, even down to the way her hair framed her face—it was identical to Electra’s, and that creeped me out.

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