The light was sharp and blinding.
Mina blinked once. Then again. And again.
This was nothing like the soft morning glow of her apartment, neither the streetlights shining through her curtains gaps. She wasn’t on her couch anymore. Or in her bed.
Her pulse spiked.
(Something feels wrong.)
She thought and lifted her head, eyes darting over the unfamiliar room. She tried to make sense of the towering ceilings and gilded walls. Chandeliers glittered overhead, scattering light across silk gowns and tailored coats.
The scents hit her next. Heavy perfume layered with roses, faint sandalwood, and the sharp bite of citrus. Beneath it, the buttery aroma of roasted meats and warm bread drifted from somewhere deeper in the ballroom.
Music surrounded her.
A lively waltz filled the space, at once foreign and strangely familiar. The strings tugged at her chest, and the piano carried a rhythm that drove her onward relentlessly, as if it had a mind of its own.
She let out a small gasp as she realized she was standing, no, moving. Her body surged forward before she could think.
Step after step, turn after turn, her feet glided across polished marble.
The emerald green silk of her gown brushed her legs as she moved. Golden embroidery traced delicate patterns along the hem and bodice, catching the candlelight with every spin. The long gloves encasing her arms felt smooth and heavy.
Every movement was perfect, effortless, as if she had danced this waltz a hundred times.
She never had.
She tried to stop.
Nothing happened.
Panic coiled in her chest. Questions raced into her mind. Was she possessed? Or had she somehow possessed this body?
Her body flowed onward, guided by hands at her back and palm, steady as they drew her into the next step.
Her gaze snapped upward.
Her dance partner met her eyes without hesitation.
Golden eyes. Too golden to be real.
His raven dark hair glinted in the candlelight like the night sky. It parted just off-center, falling in soft, uneven waves that framed his face and brushed his brows. His features were sharp and refined, clean-shaven and striking. He looked about twentyfour, tall and broad shouldered.
His lips curved into a faint, amused smile that made her stomach feel weird and tingly.
(Who is he? I've never seen him before... Is he a prince? Some random noble? Or maybe a knight?)
She swallowed hard, lips pressing tightly as she tried to catch the swirling chaos in her head. She couldn’t tell.
(Am I dreaming?)
She shook her head slightly, hoping it would wake her. Then the thought hit her harder than any punch.
(Did I die?)
Mina recognized this kind of scenario, almost as if she were seeing it from the outside.
(No, no, no, NO. Did a war break out and nuke us?)
Her gaze darted across the ballroom. It definitely looked like another world, or at least another time. The elegance of it all felt closer to a late Victorian era than anything modern.
(Isn’t a truck supposed to hit me? Or shouldn’t I die from overwork? I didn’t even get greeted by some God.)
No, this had to be a dream. That made more sense. She read too many of those stories, the ones where characters woke up in strange worlds. Rarely, she had even dreamed herself into a game after grinding for days. This felt the same.
If this was her imagination, she might as well let it unfold. It wasn’t every day she got pulled into a storybook ballroom, swept into a scene straight from the novels she devoured. Or whatever this world was. Fine, she would play along for now, and see where the story led.
Her dance partner suddenly guided her into a swift, elegant turn. The movement spun her lightly, and for a heartbeat, their faces hovered impossibly close.
(He’s way too close.)
Mina could feel the faint warmth of his breath. Up close, it struck her just how stupidly handsome he was. His skin was smooth, untouched by age or scars, his lips soft at the edges, his features balanced between masculinity and something boyish.
Any other woman might have blushed or swooned at the closeness. Mina felt a chill crawl down her spine instead. She wanted to pull away, to push him back, but for some reason, her body refused to listen.
He was far too striking to be just some background noble. So who was he really? The male lead? A supporting character? Or perhaps some distant relative of importance?
(Does this mean… am I maybe the female lead? Am I the heroine…or the villainess? Oh no. Please don’t tell me I’m going to die at the end!)
Mina screamed in her mind.
She noticed the way her dance partner looked at her. That familiar gaze she had seen in stories, in movies, even in real life. Affection. Perhaps something closer to love. Her stomach twisted at the thought.
(He’s not my lover… is he?)
Her grip faltered for half a second.
The man’s hand tightened instantly, steadying her before she could stumble.
Her breath hitched.
He noticed.
Mina straightened immediately, copying the woman dancing just beyond his shoulder. Chin lifted. Shoulders relaxed. She let him lead her more than etiquette likely allowed, afraid to improvise and make a mistake.
(Focus. Do not stand out.)
Still, the thought would not leave her. If this man truly cared for her romantically, if there was history between them, then she was already in deeper trouble than she realized. Dream or not, she refused to cross that line.
Her heart already belonged elsewhere.
(I can just leave him. End this cleanly. Maybe even run away. How hard could that be? I will aim for a quiet, peaceful life until I wake up.)
If she ever woke up.
The thought almost soothed her. Almost.
Then her skin prickled where his hands guided her. The pressure, the warmth, the rhythm of the music, the faint scent clinging to him. Every detail pressed in at once. Too clear. Too sharp. Her senses felt painfully awake.
Her pulse quickened, nausea curling low in her stomach. She tried to will herself to wake, but her body only moved faster, smoother, gliding across the marble as if nothing was wrong.
(This is not a dream… is it?)
The dizziness hit without warning. Her vision swam. She felt the blood drain from her face, the room tilting just slightly.
Her left foot caught on the edge of her gown.
It was small. Barely more than a hitch in her step. But it was enough.
For a split second, the rhythm slipped. The perfect flow faltered. Panic flared as instinct failed her, leaving her with no memory to fall back on.
Before she could stumble fully, his grip adjusted firmly.
He shifted their step seamlessly, turning her mistake into a smooth transition, guiding her weight back into place as if it had been part of the dance all along.
They never stopped moving.
Her breath shook as relief and humiliation washed over her in equal measure. No one else seemed to notice. The music carried on. The crowd remained blissfully unaware.
Only he knew.
And that terrified her more than the stumble itself.
Her hearing sharpened despite her efforts, a reflex she could not shut off. She focused on the rise and fall of their steps instead of looking at him, afraid her expression might give her away.
Whispers slipped between the music, low and sharp. They lapped at the edges of the dance floor, hushed but barbed. The language sounded old, formal, almost archaic, yet she understood every word as though meaning pressed itself into her mind without effort.
A sharp-tongued noblewoman voice whispered, “Earl Ravenshaw hasn’t looked away from her once.”
“Of course not,” another woman replied, voice airy and smug. “She’s a du Fane. A pretty face and a Grand Duke’s fortune can bewitch any man.”
Mina's stomach dropped.
“Or ensnare him,” murmured a man nearby, tone low and amused. “Remember her first betrothal? Carriage overturned, groom crushed before the wedding.”
An older, cautious voice added quietly, “And the second? Dead in his sleep. Heart too weak, they said… though others speculate poison.”
“No man survives her hand for long,” someone gasped softly from behind a fan.
A chill crept up Mina's spine.
A fan snapped open. A lady’s voice, soft and dripping with pity, floated through the music, “Poor Earl Ravenshaw. So handsome, so promising, but now shackled to her.”
Another joined, sharper and scornful, “Don’t let her innocent appearance fool you either. Her personality is rotten. At the last masquerade, Lord Harland limped for weeks after she crushed his foot. And she laughed.”
“Laughed? I heard she smiled cold as ice. Just like her eyes,” someone sneered.
“Hah, how fitting. Hair like fire, like her temper. Eyes like frost, like her heart,” another mocked.
Mina's steps were nearly tangled.
She corrected at the last second, heart hammering. The man guiding her said nothing, but she felt the faint adjustment of his grip again.
She was making mistakes.
A sudden gasp followed. “Hush! The Duke of Huntingdon is here tonight. Let him hear you slander his daughter and you’ll hang before sunrise.”
Mina’s throat tightened. The name surfaced unbidden, lodged in her mind with a sharp ache. Du Fane . The name curled like smoke in her mind, familiar yet foreign, sharp as a sting.
Seraphine du Fane .
Pain flickered behind her eyes as the name lodged itself in her head. She winced. It was not her name. Not her life. Not her reputation. And yet the weight of it pressed down on her shoulders all the same.
She forced herself to breathe evenly.
If she panicked, she would fail.
Earl Ravenshaw shifted the tempo slightly, leading her into a tighter turn. Her heart lurched. For a split second she did not know the next step.
Think.
She mirrored his movement instead of leading her own, trusting his rhythm. Her skirt flared as she spun, the room blurring into light and color.
She landed cleanly, feet finding the floor without guidance.
Her first spin. Done on her own.
Relief surged through her, short-lived.
Earl Ravenshaw’s hand remained steady at her back, golden eyes unblinking. His calm veneer carried subtle warmth, hints of admiration or concern, though she could not tell.
Her chest tightened.
(Why is he looking at me like that? And why didn't he say a word? Is he the quiet type?)
Not that she was any better. She didn't say anything to him either.
Her skin prickled where his hand rested at her back. She fought the urge to pull away, every instinct screaming discomfort. She did not like strangers touching her. Even now, it felt wrong.
She swallowed it down and held her smile in place.
The crowd’s whispers circled her like a tide, envy and judgment flowing in equal measure. Eyes followed every turn, noting perfection and hunting for flaws. None could see the chaos beneath her composure. None could guess that she was trapped in someone else’s body, that her mind scrambled desperately for explanation.
With all this attention, she doubted that she was just a side character. Did she end up in a story she already read?
Nope.
She couldn't remember which one it could be, even if she ended up in one.
There were stories where the female lead returned home. Her? She had no idea if that was even possible.
Did she have to play this role until the end?
The thought turned cold. No story ever talked about what to do if the characters refused to play along. What if she just closed the last chapter early on? No, fate or God within the story would not allow that.
A new unease crept in.
Hold on.
Did that mean someone was watching her right now?
Reading about her?
Mina’s gaze lifted on instinct, sweeping the air above the crowd, half-expecting to meet eyes that did not belong to anyone in the room.
(Please, save me! Let me out of here and then you can just move on to the next story.)
Nothing happened.
Only Earl Ravenshaw raised an eyebrow, but she just smiled at him politely as if nothing was amiss.
It seemed like her plea didn't work, or it was just not that easy. What did she expect? It was not like the readers would demand the author to free her, they would just read about her life for amusement.
She had survived the first spin, but questions crashed over her. Was she stuck now? It wouldn’t be a good story if it already ended at the start. So when could she be free? Survival depended on obedience to this world’s rules and understanding which rules she hadn’t yet learned.
The dance began to draw toward its end.
Her pulse roared in her ears as she counted steps silently, matching the rise and fall of the music. One more turn. One more glide.
Do not fall.
The final note rang out.
She dipped into a bow, guided smoothly by the Earl. The moment her feet stilled, tension flooded her limbs, leaving them trembling beneath practiced grace. She was glad the gown hid it.
Earl Ravenshaw bowed back. “You handled that very well, my lady,” he murmured, voice warm and softly, carrying something unspoken.
A name struck her thoughts like a bell.
Lucien Ravenshaw .
She lifted her head just enough to meet his eyes and forced a polite smile. “Thank you.”
The applause faded into renewed murmurs.
Some voices praised her elegance. Others whispered venomously, sharp with envy and judgment.
"Did you see her spin? Perfect posture. Perfect rhythm, they look so good together. But still… something is off,” a woman whispered loud enough for others to hear.
"Off? I bet she's already thinking of her next suitor.,” another replied, voice dripping with disgust.
"Not to mention the curse around her. Any man foolish enough…" a third whispered cautiously.
"…won’t survive her… misfortune or madness, it’s all the same," a young lady added softly.
"Watch her smile, though. Cold as ice. That one’s not a flirt. But a man’s glance might set her off," a woman leaning closer hissed.
"Would you dare approach her if you were a lord?" a final voice murmured, low and wary.
Soft shakes of heads answered.
Mina felt the sting of her unfamiliarity. She had no memories of these people, no claim to this life, and yet she understood it all without trying. The pressure, the rumors, the unspoken rules. It felt less like reality and more like a well-worn trope.
(Should I just accept my life as hers for now?)
She accepted Lucien's arm when he offered it, letting him guide her toward the edge of the ballroom. Her steps felt lighter now that the dance was over, but the danger had not passed.
Eyes followed her.
Measured. Evaluating.
She felt like prey walking through a den of well-dressed predators.
A man’s gaze lingered too long, crawling with his eyes all over her in a way that made her stomach churn. She stiffened, turning her head slightly toward Lucien without thinking. His presence comforted her, whether she liked it or not.
Hushed warnings from the women flickered in her memory, and her hand tightened around Lucien’s arm before she even noticed.
(Ew, I’m not interested.)
She silently cursed at them in her mind. They knew nothing about her. And perhaps, they never will.
Lucien’s calm presence eased the tension in her chest. A servant approached with refreshments, the sweet aroma mingling with lingering perfume.
Mina sipped her red wine carefully, trying to steady her racing heart. She observed the room, noting glances, judgments and whispers. Each step, each turn, each tilt of the head mattered. Every motion rippled consequences, invisible yet powerful.
She took a quiet breath.
She clasped her hands tightly in front of her, gripping just enough to stop the trembling. Outwardly, her posture was flawless, every lingering gaze catching only elegance, beauty and grace.
Inside, Mina’s thoughts raced in confusion, fear, and a spark of determination.
(I may be trapped in this life, in this body, in this story… but I will not be a pawn. I will decide my own story and return home. So whoever is watching me, enjoy it while it lasts. The fun is about to begin.)