The maid slowly lifted her head. She looked completely confused. She blinked her brown eyes. "Yes, My Lady. You are Lady Camilla. Wife of General Damon. Are... are you feeling unwell in your head? Did the fall damage your memory?"
Camilla rubbed her forehead with her thin, pale fingers. This was not a dream. The air felt too real. The scratchy nightgown felt too real. The confused look on the maid's face was too real.
She needed to check on the most important things in her life. She needed to know if anything from her real life had come with her.
Camilla leaned forward. She looked deeply into the maid's eyes.
"Where is Winston?" Camilla demanded. "Where is my baby?"
The maid's mouth dropped open. The color drained from her face. She looked like she had just seen a ghost. Her hands started to shake so much that she knocked the silver bowl. A little bit of warm water splashed onto the wooden floor.
"Your... your baby?" the maid stuttered. Her voice was a terrified whisper. "You do not have a child, My Lady! If the General hears you speaking like this, he will punish us all! Please do not say such scandalous things!"
Camilla frowned in annoyance. The girl was overreacting. "I am not talking about a human child. I am talking about my fat orange cat! Winston! Where is he?"
The maid looked even more confused. "A... a cat? My Lady, you hate animals. You ordered the guards to chase all the stray cats away from the garden last month."
Camilla let out a heavy sigh. Her beautiful, lazy cat was gone. He was probably still sleeping under the patio umbrella in her modern house, waiting for his dinner. She felt a small pain in her chest. She actually missed the fat furball.
But there was something much more important than the cat.
"Fine. Forget the cat," Camilla said quickly. She threw the heavy blanket off her legs.
"Where is my money?"
She swung her legs over the side of the tall bed. Her bare feet hit the cold wooden floor. "Where are my accounts? Where is my flight ticket? Where is my luggage?"
She rushed off the bed, taking a large step forward. But she forgot how long and silly the white nightgown was. The fabric wrapped around her ankles. She tripped forward, almost falling flat on her face. She barely caught herself by grabbing the wooden bedpost.
The maid let out a short scream. She moved three large steps backward in total fear. She pressed her back against the stone wall. She held her hands up to protect herself.
Camilla stood up straight. She pulled the annoying nightgown up above her knees so she could walk. She looked at her weak, shaking legs. She looked at the terrified maid. She looked at the room.
The reality of the situation finally crashed down on her like a heavy stone.
She had actually been transmigrated. She was sucked directly into the pages of the stupid Webnovel she was reading. She was no longer the feared assassin known as the Black Widow. She was now Lady Camilla, the weak, pathetic, crying noblewoman who jumped into a well because her husband wanted to divorce her.
Camilla let go of the bedpost. Her shoulders dropped. All her energy vanished. She stood in the middle of the room, holding her nightgown up, looking incredibly sad.
"This is not fair," Camilla spoke softly. Her voice was full of deep disappointment. "I just finished a very hard job. I worked so quietly. I did everything perfectly."
She looked up at the ceiling, pretending to speak to the author of the novel.
"I was supposed to go to the Maldives tomorrow," she complained. "I had it all planned. I was going to sit on a white sandy beach. I was going to drink cold orange juice. I was going to be with my hot man." She imagined the handsome guy carrying her bags. She imagined the clear ocean water.
She looked down at her pale, skinny arms again.
"Now," she said, her voice dripping with disgust. "I am stuck in this pathetic world. I am stuck inside this pathetic body. This girl cannot even lift a sword. She cannot even run without tripping over her own clothes. How am I supposed to survive in this novel?"
She dropped the fabric of her nightgown. It fell back down to the floor, covering her feet. She sighed again, a long, sad sound.
Suddenly, she heard a squeaking noise.
She remembered she was not alone in the room.
She slowly turned her head. She looked toward the wall.
The young maid had taken many slow steps backward while Camilla was ranting. The maid had quietly shuffled along the wall until she reached the heavy wooden door. Her hands were shaking violently as she grabbed the metal door handle. Her eyes were completely round with terror. She looked at Camilla like Camilla was a dangerous monster.
Camilla stared at her. She realized how crazy she must have sounded. She was a general's wife, talking about Maldives, hot men, flight tickets, and secret bank accounts. In this historical world, those words made absolutely no sense.
"Um," Camilla started to say. She raised her hand gently to tell the girl to relax. "Listen. Let us calm down for a second."
But the maid did not want to calm down.
"I... I will call the head maid!" the young girl squeaked. Her voice cracked with panic.
She pulled the heavy door open as fast as she could. She practically fell out into the hallway. She turned and sprinted away, her footsteps echoing loudly on the stone floors outside.
"Help! The young miss is speaking in tongues! Help!"
Camilla stood alone in the quiet, old-fashioned bedroom. She slowly lowered her hand. She stared at the open doorway for a long moment.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. A new headache was starting to form right behind her eyes.
Camilla groaned deeply.
"Great," she muttered to herself. She walked back to the bed and sat down heavily on the mattress. "Now they all think I have gone completely mad. This is going to make ending this novel very complicated."