She awoke with a gasp, lungs burning like they were still tasting smoke. The sting of the stab danced across her skin—no, not real, just a phantom memory. But the pain… the agonizing pain of flesh being torn multiple times still haunted the air like a ghost that refused to leave. Her eyes fluttered open, blurry at first, like reality hadn't fully downloaded yet.
I died, was her first clear thought.
Or at least, she should've.
So why the hell was she breathing?
"My lady."
The words snapped her back. A young girl stood by the door, her accent thick and unfamiliar—and yet she understood every word perfectly. The girl was dressed like she'd been snatched out of a Bridgerton cosplay meet and thrown into Downton Abbey. The room matched her vibe: all mahogany wood, silk drapes, and candlelight.
Was this… Comic-Con? Did I get isekai'd into historical fanfiction?
"Your clothes have been packed," the girl said with a small bow. "Lord Petrova has commanded that you leave as soon as you awake. You have been banished to England."
The girl exited like she hadn't just dropped a nuclear bomb of confusion. Serona blinked at the door. Then again. Then slowly, calmly—
"What the absolute fuck."
Lord Petrova? Banishment? ENGLAND?
Her brain did a blue screen of death. She knew she had a history of poor decision-making, but waking up as someone's banished daughter in what looked like the 1400s was next level. Maybe this was a lucid dream. Or a prank. It wasn't impossible for her school bullies to go this far. They don't have a life except torturing her in different ways.
The door creaked open again and this time, three—no, five—maids bustled in like ants to a sugar cube, grabbing her from the bed like she weighed nothing. She let out a shriek, half indignation, half what is happening?!
"Can I know who are—" Her voice stopped.
Correction.
Her voice stopped.
That wasn't her voice. That was someone else's. Softer. Elegant. Slightly accented.
"Okay. Nope. Absolutely not. I sound like a Jane Austen character during allergy season."
Then came the bath.
Which, on any other day, might've been a treat. But today? It was an exercise in what-the-fuckery. One maid shampooed her scalp like it owed her money. Another scrubbed her back with intensity that screamed trying to erase your sins, my lady. A third trimmed her nails while humming like this was completely normal.
"I can bathe myself," Serona protested as politely as she could. They ignored her like she'd spoken pigeon.
Every inch of her felt… off. Taller. Slimmer. Delicate in a way she never was.
Then she saw her reflection in the rippling bathwater.
And froze.
"…That's not me," she whispered.
She leaned closer. Her eyes. Her lips. Her face. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Timeless. Cold. Regal. Like she could casually seduce kings and commit war crimes without smudging her lipstick.
"Oh, hell no."
This wasn't her.
This was someone else.
She was still spiraling as they dried her off, stuffed her into layers of corsets, silk, and something lacy that was probably underwear but felt like a fashion torture device. They brushed her hair until it gleamed like onyx under candlelight, painted her lips, and spritzed her with rosewater.
She didn't know whether she was being exiled or married off.
Still confused, still numb, she was led outside, where a carriage waited like a final boss battle. She was just placing her foot on the step when—
"Katrina!"
The name sliced through the air like a bell in a cathedral.
It rang. Loudly. Familiar.
Katrina… Katrina Petrova…
Before her brain could scream the obvious, she was tackled into a bone-crushing hug by a girl that looked no older than thirteen, sobbing into her corset.
"I'll miss you!" the girl wailed. "Don't forget your little sister, alright? Write to me every week! Mama's too heartbroken to say goodbye, but… she must be sneaking glances from the window!"
Serona's head jerked up.
And there—behind the lace-curtained glass of the manor—was a shadowy silhouette. Watching with teary eyes but I couldn't reciprocate the feelings. She oddly felt glad to be banished because if she had stayed it would not take long for people to shout 'witch' and burn her in the stake just because I was not their daughter.
I was basically possessing this body, Does this means I am an evil ghost? But how do I get out of this body?
The little girl clung tighter snapping her out of her thoughts, still crying. Serona awkwardly patted her back, her heart hammering, her brain yelling one thing over and over:
"I'm not Katrina. I'm so screwed."
___
In the carriage, Serona sat stiffly as the wheels clattered beneath her, her thoughts running faster than the horses dragging her through god-knows-where.
Katrina… Katrina… why did that name sound familiar? She squinted out the window like it held answers, but all she saw was fog and trees. A cursed Pinterest aesthetic.
It hit her like a slap of déjà vu—sudden, dizzying, unwelcome.
____
I was tucked into the library's quietest corner, the kind where dust motes did ballet in the sunbeams and no one cared that my bookmark was actually a candy wrapper. My nose was buried in a fantasy novel about a heroic carrot—or maybe it was a sword? I forgot.
And then they came in.
Two classmates. The loud kind who believe "indoor voices" are a myth.
"Oh my god, you HAVE to watch it!" Girl #1 said, slamming her bag down dramatically.
"I told you I don't like vampire stuff," Girl #2 groaned.
"But this one is different! There's this villain—Katherine Pierce or should I say Katrina Per-something. She is so freaking iconic."
"Katherine?"
"Yeah. She's like the ultimate bad girl. Hot, dangerous, unkillable. Total chaos in heels."
"Kinda sounds like every toxic ex ever," Girl #2 snorted.
"Exactly! She manipulates everyone—especially the Salvatore brothers—Damon and Stefan. Like, she RUINS their lives."
"But people still love her?"
"Oh yeah. Fans are obsessed with her. Characters? Not so much."
I had blinked at that part.
A villain loved by millions but hated by everyone around her?
That sounded… lonely.
Girl #2 sighed dramatically. "What's the show called again?"
Girl #1 practically vibrated with excitement:
"THE VAMPIRE DIARIES. It's getting insanely popular."
I remember rolling my eyes.
A TV show about vampires writing in diaries? Cute.
Totally not a thing I'd ever need to watch.
Right?
I leaned closer to my book, trying to drown out their conversation with fictional carrots—er, knights. But one last line still reached me:
"Katherine always gets what she wants… until everyone decides she doesn't deserve to live anymore."
A chill had crawled up my spine.
Odd.
Random.
Forgettable—
—or so I thought.
My breath hitched as the memory slammed into the front of my brain like an emotional freight train.
Katherine. Katerina.
Same woman.
Same… me?
I buried my face in my hands.
"Out of every fictional universe… I wake up in the one where everyone hunts the villain for sport," I whispered. And the worst part is I don't even know the freaking plot.
Cosmic joke?
A divine prank gone wrong?
I didn't know.
But I did know one thing:
I wanted to go back to my library corner.
To my butterfly.
To bruises that healed and a world where stakes were wooden—not lethal.
Here?
I was the threat. The target. The villain fans worship… and characters would kill the second they could.
"Oh Serona," I muttered to myself, heart pounding, "you are so unbelievably, spectacularly screwed."
I eyed the wine bottle in the carriage corner. "Would now be a bad time to start drinking?"