A cold breeze brushed against her skin, jolting her awake. Her heart pounded as she sat upright, momentarily convinced she was back home—her real home, the dilapidated one filled with repaired and repurposed furniture. For the first time in her life, she wished desperately to return to it.
But as she gripped the silken sheets beneath her fingers, reality came crashing down. The air in the room was frigid, the fireplace cold and lifeless. Tall windows stood ajar, allowing the night wind to stir the translucent white drapes, making them ripple like restless ghosts. The darkness pressed in, but as her eyes adjusted, she recognized the extravagant bedroom she had first awoken in earlier that day.
And when she turned to the mirror, the same statuesque blonde stared back at her.
Who are you?
And where's my body?
Shoving aside the mounting panic the same way she shoved the layers of blankets now covering her, she tentatively stepped toward the French doors and out onto a sprawling verandah. She was up on the third floor. The cold air stung her cheeks as she inhaled deeply, hoping to steady herself. Below, the gardens stretched in manicured perfection, their symmetry oddly surreal. This place was nothing like home. It wasn't just the architecture or the chill in the air—it was something deeper, something even further beyond.
What is going on?
She tilted her head up, instinctively seeking comfort in the stars, but the sight that met her eyes stole the breath from her lungs.
T-T-Two moons?!
Impossible!
Her fingers tightened around the verandah's railing as her mind raced. This wasn't Earth. There was never a time, nor season, nor celestial event in history where a human could look up and see two massive moons hanging in the sky.
Where the hell am I?!
Her chest tightened, panic clawing its way up her throat. Breathe. Deep breaths.
Minutes passed before the rapid thumping of her heart began to slow. She forced herself to think rationally. If this wasn't Earth, then where was she? In which universe?
Yet, if she had truly left Earth, why did the woman in the mirror look human? Not some little green alien, but a pale, elegant beauty who could even comfortably belong in Hollywood.
What do I do?
She was in a different planet?! She couldn't even begin to make sense of this huge impossibility. She turned back toward the room, scanning its vast interior. Beyond the French doors, the mansion stretched on—tall windows, conical rooftops, and an eerie grandeur reminiscent of a medieval, European haunted mansion. The very thought of venturing out into the unknown sent a shiver down her spine.
No. I can't. Not yet. Not tonight.
Instead, she hurried back inside, sinking onto the enormous bed and curling into its warmth as if it might somehow transport her home. But even as she tried to block out her fear, a memory surfaced—her stepbrother's pained expression, his silent plea for her to fight.
I don't know what I'm doing here and how I came to be here.
I don't know how safe this world is, but I have to... I have to do this. I have to find a way back home.
For Ethan.
Mary Jane, you can do this.
She sat up, shaking off the paralysis gripping her. If she was trapped here, she needed answers. And if she couldn't face the world outside yet, then she would start small. Baby steps. She would search this room first. There had to be something—anything—that could tell her where she was or who she was supposed to be.
Ignoring the relentless growling of her stomach, she focused on her task. Hunger was an old companion; one she had already learned to endure. She had more pressing concerns than food.
The room was massive, easily three times the size of her entire home back on Earth. She sifted through drawers, cabinets, and dressers, methodically searching for clues. As she worked and searched, dawn crept over the horizon, eventually bathing the room in golden light.
Eureka!
Her hands trembled as she pulled out a stack of letters, their vellum envelopes sealed with wax and adorned with colorful ribbons. Excited, she tore one open, eager to read its contents.
And then—
Nothing.
The parchment was filled with elegant, looping characters that meant absolutely nothing to her.:
ᜐ ᜁᜎᜎᜒᜋ᜔ ᜅ᜔ ᜎᜒᜏᜈᜄ᜔ ᜅ᜔ ᜎᜅᜒᜆ᜔
ᜀᜆ᜔ ᜅ᜔ ᜂᜆᜓᜐ᜔ ᜅ᜔ ᜋᜄ ᜐᜒᜈᜂᜈ
ᜃᜋᜒ ᜐᜒ ᜁᜋᜈ᜔ᜌᜓᜌ᜔ ᜋᜓᜇ᜔ᜆᜒᜃ᜔ᜐ᜔ ᜇᜒ ᜊᜓᜎᜒᜌᜓᜐ᜔
ᜃᜆᜀᜐ᜔ ᜆᜀᜐᜅ᜔ ᜉᜒᜈᜓᜈᜓ ᜈᜄ᜔ ᜎᜊᜒᜈ᜔ᜇᜎᜏᜅ᜔
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
Desperate, she rifled through the rest, opening letter after letter, but each was written in the same indecipherable script. A sinking sense of helplessness gripped her. How was she supposed to survive in a world where she couldn't even read the language? The heroines in the isekai and transmigration novels, mangas, manhwas, and animes she'd previously seen never had this problem! Those heroines were always magically granted the ability to speak and read the language of their new world.
Why didn't that happen to me?
Did she not deserve it? Was this punishment for talking back to her stepfather?
Tears stung her eyes. The weight and frustration of the unknown was suffocating. She felt like she was drowning in an endless ocean, flailing for something—anything—to hold onto. But she refused to give up. Gritting her teeth, she reached for the next letter. And the next.
And then—
Wait.
What's this?
Buried beneath the others was a single black envelope, its surface unremarkable except for one crucial detail—the letters on it were written in a familiar script.
English.
Her breath hitched. With trembling fingers, she turned it over, searching for a sender. Nothing.
She ripped it open, barely noticing the perfunctory knock on the door as she unfolded the note inside. Two words stared back at her:
Read me.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. Who sent this? Why?
She smoothed out the paper, her eyes scanning the strange golden ink forming a circle surrounded by intricate symbols. A magic circle? Could she have been brought here by actual magic??
Her gaze drifted to the small inscription at the bottom. Carefully, she sounded out the unfamiliar words written in English alphanumeric letters.:
"Dis…cam… lin…guam… dei…"
The magic circle flared to life.
Light flooded the room, growing brighter and brighter until it rivaled the morning sun. And then—
Agony.
A piercing pain shot through her skull as if molten metal had been poured into her brain.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!"
The letter slipped from her fingers as she collapsed, clutching her head. Behind her closed eyelids, glowing symbols and incomprehensible words spiraled into her mind, searing themselves into her thoughts. She could feel them—could feel them burrowing into the very fabric of her consciousness, embedding themselves like burning brands.
It was too much. Too painful. Too overwhelming.
Her mind couldn't withstand it.
And she knew no more.
***** Rise anew, take her place*****
He was sitting behind his desk, the large window behind him which let sunlight wash through and illuminate the two maids standing in front of him. Both women had their hands clasped in front of them, shoulders hunched, heads bowed, and fear obviously etched in their features. He didn't know what their names were since he has more than a thousand people employed in all of the households he owned. But their faces were familiar to him.
"So," he looked seriously at both women, making sure his tone brooked no lies from them. "Tell me again what I just heard from you two."
Both women flinched and hunched their shoulders down even more, neither one willing to start speaking. Earlier, he was walking down the hallway after leaving his study, intending to leave for work, when he overheard both housemaids gossiping while wiping down the vases. Normally, he would ignore such behavior since everyone's doing a good job with the upkeep of his home. However, he heard one word spoken by one of them that made him pause. He then decided to ask both women back to his study.
"Well?" He prompted.
"W-we would like to apologize, my lord!" The one on the left suddenly exclaimed.
"We beg your pardon, my lord," the one on the right seemed to have gathered her courage. "It will not happen again." Both women bowed at the same time.
"That is not what I wanted to hear. I want to know what you were talking about."
The women looked at each other before one of them hesitantly spoke. "We… we were…. we just heard something about the madam, my lord."
"And?" Again, normally, he didn't care whatever the servants say about his wife. He doesn't even go out of his way to see her nor talk to her. As far as he was concerned, her wife was just another mouth to feed and clothe. In fact, that fainting debacle on the grand stairs a few nights ago was actually the second time he saw his wife in almost a year. The first time was when the countess fell from her bedroom window about a couple of weeks ago.
And they've already been married for a little over 3 years.
Perhaps that night, when he carried his feverish wife to her unkempt bedroom, sparked a little bit of curiosity in him. A very tiny little bit of curiosity, he debated, which was natural to have from one human being towards another.
"Um… we just heard the Countess' attendant talk about how the madam spoke in a strange language, my lord."
"A strange language?" He clarified.
"The attendant said she couldn't understand a word that her ladyship spoke," nodded the maid.
"What kind of strange language?"
"We…we don't know, my lord. Sarah just said she talked like a foreigner."
"A foreigner…Is that all?"
"Uhm…that the madam was also…" she seemed reluctant to continue.
"Yes?" He was getting impatient with these halting words.
"Uh, she… Sarah said the madam also acted rather strangely."
"How so?"
"The madam seemed to act shy and spoke with a respectful tone, the attendant said, my lord."
He stroked his jaw. That was indeed a bit strange. When was Bettina ever shy and polite?...
Wait a minute, he stopped his train of thought. Why was he wasting his time like this over that woman? She must be up to something again.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!"
He surged to his feet at the sound of a female's scream. The sound was faint, like it came from the other side of the estate. But it was unmistakably a scream of pain.
Without another word, he strode out of the room leaving behind the two maids who suddenly turned toward the open doors of his study. With large steps, he quickly reached the foyer and followed some of the staff who were running towards the west wing. The countess' wing.
The countess' bedroom doors were open and there were a few servants peeking in from the outside. They immediately stepped back when they saw him. Once he entered the countess' room, he immediately saw the head maid with a few more servants standing around a white-clad woman sprawled on the floor by the large vanity. Bettina, whose hands were clutching her own head, was very obviously unconscious. She fainted. Again. Hasn't the family doctor been checking up on her?
"This looks interesting," he commented drolly at no one in particular, crossing his arms.
At once, everyone stepped back and bowed their heads, giving him an unimpeded view of his wife. Striding inside, he went down on one knee and hovered a finger by her nostrils. Her breathing seemed to be even. Nothing looked out of the ordinary except for the sheafs of papers and envelopes scattered all around her. Her skin looked a little paler than usual, though.
"What happened?" He asked no one in particular.
"I-I don't know, my lord." Answered one of the maids. "I had just arrived and was knocking on the door when she suddenly screamed."
He stooped to situate his hands underneath Bettina's prone position and heaved her up, carrying her once more. "Mrs. Potts, call Doctor Stein immediately," he ordered the head maid. Everyone scampered out of the room.
And once more he laid his wife back on her bed.
Her fever has gone down a lot, he noticed. Her body was no longer steaming hot like it was several nights ago. Convincing himself that the relief that washed over him was only natural for any human being to feel for any sick person, his eyes automatically scanned the place for any changes.
He noticed that the windows were now closed, although they still had the same, one set of flimsy white drapes drawn over them. The lights were still off, which was fine since it was morning. However, the fireplace was still cold and dead. He went over and hovered his hand inside the fireplace. It was never lit up it seemed, otherwise, it should emit a faint residual heat.
He then went over on the mantle above the fireplace and found the same fingermark he left when he scraped the film of dust off of it. It still wasn't dusted. Gritting his teeth, he sat on the large sofa and waited.
Mrs. Potts arrived in the room soon after, the doctor right behind her as well as the other maid who spoke back to her earlier, and they all curtsied in front of him. "My lord, you called for us?"
"Mrs. Potts, who is my wife's personal attendant?" He leaned back, crossed his arms in front of him, and rested one leg on top of the other.
"This is Sarah, my lord." Mrs. Potts gestured a hand over to the maid beside the doctor. "She has just been newly appointed as the madam's personal attendant."
"When?"
"Two mornings since."
"And what happened to the previous attendant whom she replaced?"
"She has withdrawn herself from your employ, my lord." The head maid kept her head down and her tone even.
"When?"
"A pair of months since, my lord."
"And is Sarah the only personal attendant that the countess has had ever since the previous one left?"
"None else desired to labor under the countess' command, my lord."
Ah. He doesn't need to ask why that is. "Who administered the medicine by the bed?"
"It was Jane, my lord. The downstairs maid who caught the Countess by the stairs two nights ago."
He nodded. Then, he turned to the doctor. "When was the last time you examined my wife, Dr. Stein?"
"Uh…um…that was…on the day she was found unconscious… by the garden." Scratching his head, the doctor could not hide his guilty look.
"And how many other check-ups have you made after the initial one?"
No response. The earl could see the answer very well on the doctor's guilty look. He hasn't been checking up on the countess. He sighed. He was conflicted himself. Part of him wanted nothing more to do with this woman, but another part of him was somehow bothered at the thought of someone being neglected in his home.
"I am well apprised that everyone within this household is not ignorant of the strife between my wife and myself," he attempted to sound reasonable and calm. "However, shall my marital discord now grant license for all of you to dishonor me?"
Mrs. Potts' widened eyes looked over to him in fearful confusion while the other two kept their eyes downcast and silent.
"Is there none that comprehend?" He looked at everyone. "Then let it be known and remembered—any slight upon my wife is a slight upon myself, and such dishonor shall not be borne in this house." The quiet authority in his tone was unmistakable to everyone in the room.
"Y-yes my lord," they all agreed.
"Shall I see to it that this house be replaced with those who are able to remember their duties?"
The head maid fell on her knees, followed by the other two with her. "I am stricken with shame, my lord, for I have failed you in a manner most unforgivable. It was never my intent to bring dishonor nor disorder upon this house, yet my misjudgment hath wrought it so. I humbly beg your pardon."
"W-we beg your forgiveness, my lord," added the doctor. "It was not our intention to–"
"Leaving a sick woman alone, a countess no less, without a personal attendant, and without medical assistance for weeks are not anyone's intention?" One eyebrow raised in question. He stood up and walked over to the nearest window. He grasped the thin, single sheet of drapery and pulled. It came crashing down the floor with a cloud of dust. The three flinched at the sound it made. Thankfully, the woman in bed was not roused from her slumber.
He went over to the closet, opened the door, and pushed it wide open completely so that there was a sudden waft of musty odor that washed over them. Then, with deliberate slowness, he pulled his snowy-white handkerchief from one of his pockets, and used it to wipe the mantelpiece once. And then, he threw the handkerchief on the floor in front of the three so that the black grime and dust it picked up was clearly visible to their eyes.
Silence. The three servants remained on their knees. It seemed that no response was forthcoming. He sighed again.
"Evil that woman might be," he pointed at the unconscious woman in bed. "I will not argue with that. However, whoever holds the countess's seat of the Whitman Earldom is to be afforded the proper respect and servitude inside the House of Whitman, do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, my lord," Mrs. Potts and the other two bowed their obeisance.
He stood up. "Mend thy service or seek employ elsewhere." He walked over to the door but, as he held the doorknobs, turned back to the others first. "I will not repeat myself," he warned and left without closing the door behind him.
"Yes, my lord."
*****Two hearts seek vengeance; two minds burn bright*****
The muffled chirping of birds was music to her ears. It roused her up from sleep in a relatively relaxed manner. Though it took her a while to remember where she was, she felt a lot better and a little calmer today. No more fever.
And the growling hunger in her stomach seemed to have eased a lot.
Somehow, in the back of her mind, she could vaguely recall someone rousing her half-awake, at different moments of her stupor, only to lay a spoon on her mouth and coerce her to drink different tasting liquids. Days must have passed. But who was it?
Automatically, her eyes were drawn back to the woman in the mirror. She was still in this stranger's body. She searched her new, sultry, almond shaped eyes, for her most recent memories. And that alerted her back to that fantastical experience she had before she lost consciousness. The paper.
She remembered reading aloud words and letters from the English alphabet on a paper scribbled with a magic circle. And the pounding of the most intense headache she has ever had before losing consciousness on the floor. How did I get back in bed? And where was that paper?
She stood up to go back to the spot where the papers were scattered, but found none. Someone must have cleaned up in here. And that's when she noticed some changes in her bedroom.
There were new, multiple-layered drapes covering each of the, now closed, tall windows and they looked clean. They were thicker and provided more protection from the cold weather. The fireplace was still warm and held charcoal that were still glowing with a few embers, giving off a pleasant woody scent in the air. The room itself was also cleaned and dusted, with fresh flowers adorning the vases on the coffee table, the low book shelves, and on top of the fireplace. Even the mattress and blankets on her bed seemed to have been replaced with clean ones. The entire room looked brighter, with a wonderful smell of fresh flowers that hung in the air.
She went back to the writing desk and opened the drawer where she initially found the letters. They were indeed back in there. She gathered the papers once again.
She wanted to take a look at that paper with the magic circle again. She couldn't find it though. As if it vanished. Was it thrown away by someone? Or was it a figment of her imagination? Rechecking each of the parchment papers more carefully, in search of that specific paper, made her pause. Wait a minute, she took a closer look at one of the papers she held.
It was one of the letters that she couldn't read last time. Her eyes opened wide in amazement. She could read it now!:
-----000-----
The Lord Chamberlain is commanded by The Emperor to invite
The Right Honorable Countess Bettina Anne Whitman
to the upcoming Tea Party of
Her Royal Highness, Princess Amarie Isabela de Boleus, B.E.
in the Ivory Palace Gardens
on the 9th of Quintilis at the second hour past noon
An answer is requested to be sent to the Lord Chamberlain,
Office of the Chamberlain, Boleus Grand Palace, Boleus Capital
-----000-----
Wow! She could now read and understand these alien, squiggly characters! How could this happen? Her mind recalled the paper with the golden magic circle. Is it because of that? –she thought. But, where did that paper come from?
She looked back at the woman in the mirror. Bettina Anne Whitman. Is that you? Is that your name? –she asked her new reflection.
Did you write that magic circle?
But, more importantly, where are you, Bettina? Where is your soul right now?
The brilliant violet eyes staring back at her yielded no answer. It stared back at her looking as confused as she was feeling. Checking out the rest of the other letters affirmed her question: all of them were addressed to the same person. All of them were invitations to a gathering or a party.
Countess Bettina Anne Whitman. A countess. It sounded like a title for nobility. She could remember one or two female characters in the manhwas she has read that had the same title as Bettina. How wild was this? But, nobility of which country? She was still finding it hard to wrap her head around her current reality.
Had she reincarnated into the body of a character in a novel or online game? But she had not read that much novels in her life. She was much too busy working to waste her time reading. Also, she could not afford to pay for internet nor own a mobile phone so, whether this world was inside an online game or not was irrelevant and unhelpful to her.
A countess. It sounded like she has a pretty high-ranking position in society. That explained the luxury of the furniture and everything else in this room. Slumping on the vanity desk, Mary Jane lamented to herself. What am I even doing here?
A knock at the door broke her reverie. Followed by a woman's voice that thoroughly surprised her.
"My lady, shall we prepare your bath?"
She gasped. She was not surprised by the cold, dry tone of the woman's voice that suggested a lack of interest despite the outwardly respectful words used. It was not even because the familiarity of the voice suggested it may have come from the same person who knocked on her door a couple days ago. It was the fact that she understood what was said that actually surprised her. She could understand her!
"Y-yes please," her words were halting as she wrapped her tongue around these foreign words that she could now speak and understand. She could feel the alien words in her mouth and hear the alien words, but it seemed her mind was automatically translating them for her correct understanding. And although it still felt awkward for her to say these new words, it still felt like she just gained wings.
She was so happy with her progress that she didn't notice the slight pause before the door opened.
Two women entered the room and gave a quick curtsy. Without looking at her, one of the women went to the walk-in closet while the other went to the door leading to the bathroom. A few seconds later, she heard the sloshing of water being filled in the bathtub. The one who went to the closet went back and forth, carrying articles of clothing, and laying them on the bed in an orderly fashion. What? What's happening?
The maid in the bathroom went out and stood a few paces away from her. "Your bath is ready, my lady," the maid said.
"I-I'm sorry?" What's going on?
The two maids looked at each other in surprise before one of them answered. "May we help you bathe?"
Them? Help me bathe?
Are they going to bathe me like a newborn baby?
Oh, wait. Right. She was supposed to be the countess and, as a high ranking noble, she was supposed to have a maid or two to help with some of her personal routines. Just like bathing and dressing up. Yes, she remembered reading about those.
Mary Jane wrapped her arms around herself, feeling suddenly shy. She wasn't used to bathing nor getting undressed in front of other people. She had been taking care of herself since she was ten years old, ever since her mother ran away and left her alone with Ethan, who was still a baby at the time, to her bastard of a stepfather.
Would it be alright if she asked them to leave? Or would they be suspicious of her if she took that bath alone?
Gritting her teeth, she decided to let the maids help her bathe. She didn't want to stand there awkwardly any longer while the two women look at her in confusion for her obvious reluctance.
Inside the bathroom, one maid helped her out of the gown while the other was pouring some scented liquids and flower petals on the marble tub filled with warm water. She could feel her cheeks and chest heat up and blush, and it was not because of the steaming water.
Thankfully, it was not as embarrassing as she had expected. Both maids performed their duties without looking directly at her and without even making conversation. Their movements were so methodical and perfunctory that it actually helped her relax. One part of her mind, though, noticed another thing. They didn't want to be here. Their attitude made her feel as if they would rather be working someplace else.
I have to do something, she thought. Now that she gained the ability to communicate with the people here, she felt that gaining their confidence would be of great help. She was in desperate need of information.
Her bath was finished and they were already drying her long tresses in front of the vanity when she was able to gather enough courage to speak. "Thank you." She said quietly.
Through the mirror, she saw both maids stop and look at her in surprise. But no response was forthcoming. They really didn't want to speak with her.
A few moments of silence passed. Her hair had been thoroughly dried and one of the maids started brushing her hair. She tried to speak again. "May I know your name?"
The brown-haired maid stopped brushing involuntarily and stared openly at the other maid, as if she was communicating with the other girl silently. "Sarah," the maid answered, though her eyes were strictly glued back to the blonde hair that she resumed brushing.
"And you?" She looked at the other maid, who was applying some sort of fragrant oil on her legs and arms, through the mirror.
The red-haired maid answered. "Jane."
And then no more. She didn't know how to continue the conversation as the maids seemed perfectly fine with the silence. Befriending people here might be more difficult than she thought.
The rest of her morning ablutions were completed without any other conversation. Their behavior made it quite clear to her: they didn't want to talk to her.
Once they were done fixing her up, Mary Jane looked at herself, her new self, entirely in the mirror. She now looked like she was about to attend a high school prom. Her outer gown was of a soft, yellow-green material with golden threads embroidered all over it, along with several layers of fabrics and clothes underneath that seemed to want to weigh her down. Her hair was smoothed and curled artfully atop her head and was made to frame her face. The worst part of her ensemble was the corset—it was so hard and tight that it squished her boobs and would not allow her to slump even a little.
Before both women left, though, the maid Sarah turned to her and spoke with practiced sweetness. Gone was her stoic face of earlier. "Would my lady care to indulge in her breakfast here, as is her custom, or grace the hall below with her rare presence?"
What does that mean? It took her a moment to understand the maid's question. Trying to keep the confusion from showing and maintain composure, she replied. "I will eat downstairs."
Sarah raised her brows ever so slightly, though her obviously fake smile remained fixed. "A rare delight it shall be for the household to witness my lady's presence at the table."
Mary Jane rose as gracefully as she could from the vanity chair, smoothing the folds of her gown to take some time to think. She also didn't know where the dining hall was. "Why don't you lead the way, Sarah?"
Sarah curtsied with exaggerated elegance. "Certainly, my lady. The very walls of the dining hall might tremble with joy at your arrival," Sarah added with a barely concealed sneer.
She didn't know how to respond to the veiled contempt that she was sensing in the maids' tone and behavior. Were they angry at her? "Let's just go."
Sarah lowered her gaze with feigned humility. "Right this way, my lady."
Trying to muster up the dignity of a countess, Mary Jane swept from the room, following in the wake of the two maids who were sneaking glances at each other and hiding their smirks with their hands.