The maid left, lifting her skirts and running out as if the devil was on her tail. I could hear her yell for a, "MILADYYYY!" in the corridor. I was left standing in the empty room, blinking after her.

...okay, that could have gone better. At least I wasn't the one doing the screaming. 

Me: One. Isekai tropes: Zero.

A new wave of dizziness overtook me and I made for the couch that suddenly looked very inviting, as fast as possible. I gratefully sat down, leaning against the back. My silk robe fell open down my chest, the gold sach barely managing to protect my modesty.

No one ever said taking over a body could be this exhausting. I didn't even talk to anyone important-looking yet. I was already dreading that part.

"-I swear it to you, my Lady. Awake and well!" The maid came back and she'd brought someone with her. Looks like it was time to meet the Canon.

Oh, wow.

It was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen in my life. Her dress was a royal blue and off-shoulder with the straps falling laterally on her arms in a soft way and the skirt part flaring out like a ballgown. It reminded me of the fashion style in the movie Anna Karenina starring Keira Knightley.

Her hair, a brilliant ruby red, was twisted into an elaborately loose updo. A few ringlets tumbled down the back of her swan neck and escaped curls framed her proud face. I'd never seen a natural shade like that before. Was it a wig? Its color was only matched by her arched eyebrows and red-painted lips. 

Her eyes studied the room before settling on me. I couldn't discern their color from my seat.

She flicked a finger towards the mess on the floor. "Clean this up," she ordered the maid without looking at her.

The maid promptly knelt to start gathering the shards. I wanted to tell her to sweep it up with a broom before she cut herself but all my attention was immediately taken by the ruby-haired lady striding towards me.

The loud clicking of her footwear—that I couldn't see beneath the ruffles of her dress but guessed had at least moderate heels—was in sync with my heartbeat. 

She stopped at the arm of the couch. I was sitting on the other end, still splayed indecently. I didn't feel the need to move, and even if I had, I didn't think I had the energy to.

"My Lord," she curtsied, head lowered.

My eyes were fixed on her hair. It was like someone had taken fire and turned it into keratin fibers. I was so busy admiring it that it took me a second to notice she hadn't straightened from her bow. 

Was she waiting for me?

"You should sit." That wasn't what I'd meant to say. But it was starting to be clear to me that this body had a limited repertoire of expression. A natural impulse to act IC, in character.

I didn't get the reflex to stand up and greet her, something I would've considered rude otherwise. My lips hadn't even twitched up for a smile and that was antithesis to my whole self.

She sat as far away from me as the length of the couch would allow. "It is good to see you awake. Everyone has been very worried."

"What happened?" My tongue felt like sandpaper.

She shook her head. "It is not my place to say."

I opened my mouth, ready to ask for some fucking clarification—not her place. What did that mean?—but a splitting headache stopped me.

I winced, pressing a hand to my temple.

The woman scooted closer. "My Lord, are you alright?" 

This close I could smell her perfume—something sharp and sweet. Like tangerines. 

"I will be," I rasped, hunching slightly.

Her brows furrowed and she raised her hand towards my face.

NO! Something deep in me revolted, trashing, roaring. Don't touch me! Don't burn me!

Before I even realized what I was doing, my hand had involuntarily whipped out to snatch her wrist in a tight grip. We both froze, staring at our hands with wide eyes.

What the hell had just happened?

Tha- that hadn't been me yelling.

"My Lord, please," she tugged, "Let me…" Touch you? Go? I wanted both and neither. Would I be able to feel the pressure of her fingers or would it be like in a dream, where there's no sensations but you were certain of touches happening?

Shame welled up in me and I avoided her eyes. She can't know. She couldn't know, but why? I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. A part of me—of him—moaned as if in pain.

I forced myself to slowly release her wrist. She snatched it back, gripping it close to her chest and looking at me with hooded wine-red eyes.

"I… do not remember anything," I admitted quietly. "I woke up and everything was strange."

She stared. Her eyes were a dark burgundy. The pupils widened and narrowed as she shifted, so those weren't contacts. "Nothing? Not even your-" she cut herself off and took a deep breath. "Try to remember, my Lord."

I shook my head. "Nothing… except for..." I stared down at my hands. The ghostly weight and feel of a book rested there. "T-tima? Timothy."

The names were the first things to pop in my head, along with a title.

The Book of Tima.

It was the title of a game I remembered playing. Tima had been the name of the main male lead, the crown prince of the Empire. It was one of my favorite Otome games, easily ranking in the top ten. I hadn't played it in years, though. 

I didn't know why I thought of it, considering the extraordinary circumstances I found myself in. But my fingers twitched with the ghost feeling of a console in my hands. The urge to hum the main theme music of the game was strong but I resisted.

The name garnered an odd reaction. 

She drew back, a cool mask sliding over her beautiful features, hiding any trace of thought from me. Not that I could read much in the first place. It was like seeing a door left slightly ajar be closed firmly shut. 

She stood up, said, "My Lord must be tired. I will leave you to your rest." She curtsied again, this one a shallower version, before turning around and walking to the white double doors she came from.

"Wait," I called after her. She paused—no, she froze—her back to me, hand clenched around the door handle. I noted the tensed muscles of her exposed shoulders and wondered "Wh-what is your name?"

"Scarlett." She still didn't look at me. I tried not to take it too personally.

I tried out her name. "Scarlett." It felt familiar, like a name I read somewhere, like how Penelope brought me to remember the Odyssey.

Penelope. Queen of Ithaca. Odyseus' wife.

Scarlet. Wife of whom? Lady of what?

I licked my dry lips. "Who am I?"

It was quiet for a moment.

Then, she untensed her muscles and straightened her back, staring straight ahead.

"The most heartless man in Dulcenia." She said calmly before wrenching the door open and leaving.

I supposed that was answer enough for my question.

Clink. Clink.

I blinked out of my thoughts. The maid was still here, picking up shards and setting them onto the tray, trying her hardest to blend into the background. An impossible feat, considering her monochrome attire and the light colors of the room. 

I completely forgot about her. I would've felt guilty but I was too overwhelmed, too confused and certainly too tired to care.

I watched her leave. When the door closed behind her and an unerring quiet befell my chambers I took a deep, shuddering breath.

I stood up on shaky legs, turned, walked to my canopied bed and flopped facedown on it.

I conked out before my head even hit the satin covers.