Rasputina slowly blinked. 

Her vision refocused, and she realised that she was back inside her compartment on the Orient Express. The gas lamp on the coffee table was burning brightly, bathing her and everything in a golden glow. The world outside the windows was pitch black. 

And it was quiet. Too quiet. 

“This…am I dreaming again?” she murmured, staring at her reflection in the glass pane. A reflection that seemed to shift between Xavier and Rasputina when she tilted her head slightly. Yet, she still physically remained as Rasputina when she looked down at herself. Weird. 

Suddenly, the door to her bedchamber creaked open. She started and spun to face the unexpected newcomer. “W-who—”

Before she could finish her question, a tall woman with hip-length blonde hair elegantly glided out from behind the door. Her half-open, enigmatic magenta eyes shone as they reflected the gaslight of the room. The hem of her white maid’s uniform swept across the carpeted floor noiselessly. 

Rasputina opened her mouth to repeat her question—then paused abruptly. There was something…something about her wan face that seemed familiar yet strange at the same time. It was like seeing an old friend who had changed a lot over the years, but still retained an appearance just enough to be recognisable on a closer look. 

“Nightingale…? Wait, no, y-you are—” she gasped in utter shock “—you are the dead woman!” 

Staring at her with a mixture of amusement and disbelief, the maid chuckled wryly. “You havenʼt even figured out who I am, Xavier? My apologies, it seems like I have severely overestimated your murder-solving abilities when I was planning out my own death.” 

“H-h-huh-wait-no-you-what?” she fumbled over her words in her sudden panic.

Ignoring her flustered state, the maid lifted the hem of her skirt in a graceful curtsy. “Please allow me to introduce myself post-mortem. My name is Cecilla, the former head maid of the palace and attendant of Her Highness.” 

It took Rasputina a few stupefied seconds to recall where exactly she had heard that name before. “Y-you are that maid who was fired from the palace?! We—” 

She stopped short of telling her that she and Theo had been looking for her to talk about Anastasiaʼs condition 

“I’m sure that you have plenty of questions for me,” Cecilla said. “Though I can’t answer any question that pertains to the Lord or the circumstances leading to my timely death, I am more than happy to answer those that are in my capacity, if that gives you a little peace of mind.”

Rasputina blinked and widened her eyes. “You and the Lord are…working together?” 

“Indeed,” she confirmed. “I’m assisting the Lord in protecting Her Highness until her coronation has been completed.” 

“So He has also approached you for help?” she remarked, astonished. 

“Yes, but for a different purpose initially,” Cecilla explained. “I don’t know when exactly did it all start, but on the day of Her Highness’ birthdate, something weird happened to her. She told me that she dreamt of an angel bringing her to another world, a world that was both similar and vastly different to ours.”

“Another world?” Rasputina frowned. “Is this world the same world where the Lord came from?” 

“This is something that the Lord has not shared with me,” Cecilla answered honestly. “All I know is that because of this dream, Her Highness’ soul was taken away by the mysterious angel.” 

“T-taken away…?” she breathed. 

“Something that Her Highness had mentioned to me, something about the so-called angel coming to set her soul free.” The maid averted her eyes to the ground. “I didn’t quite believe her at first. But when she suddenly collapsed during the ceremony, I was taken by complete shock. It happened, I thought, what Anastasia had written down in her notebook actually came true! In my shock and disbelief, the Lord appeared before me…”

The room that they were in suddenly changed. Alarmed, Rasputina found herself standing in a dark, long hallway. Pale silvery moonlight streamed in through the windows, illuminating the two hazy figures that stood face-to-face before her.

Was this yet another fabricated dream vision? But how could Cecilla possibly replicate what the Lord—

An authoritative, but nonetheless familiar voice interrupted her bewildered thoughts. 

“Cecilla Von Inder,” the man greeted the stunned palace maid. “Do not be afraid, dear child. I approach you with well intentions tonight.”

His manner of speech was remarkably different, Rasputina noted. Here, He sounded way more godlike and powerful. Although she was a spectator, she could not help but feel the same awe and fear that Cecilla felt as she faced the Lord. 

“Y-you are the Lord, aren’t you? Why might you be here?” Cecilla whispered, barely able to breathe. “Are you…about Her Highness—”

“Indeed, Her Highness has met with unforeseen misfortune,” He replied. “Cecilla, I have come before you to request your assistance in nursing Her Highness back to good health.” 

“Of course,” she answered without hesitation. “I will do whatever the Lord and protector of this Empire requires of me…” 

Their voices faded away, and Cecilla’s voice sounded in Rasputina’s ear as if she was speaking next to her. “The Lord revealed to me that an ancient evil spirit had taken hold of Her Highness’ soul. The only way to keep Anastasia alive is to transfer another soul into her body temporarily while He try to recover her original soul.” 

Rasputina quickly turned in the direction of her voice, but there was no sign of her to be seen. She tentatively asked into the darkness, “is this what’s causing Anastasia’s ‘transmigration disease’?”

“Yes, it is a consequence of the Lord replacing Her Highness’ soul with another.” There was a pause before she continued, “however, her ‘transmigration disease’ wasn’t supposed to manifest in the first place.” 

“What do you mean?”

“You see, the transmigrated soul was to lay dormant in Her Highness’ body for three days, while the Lord imbued it with Her Highness’ memories, knowledge and personality. The transmigrated Anastasia would therefore be able to behave and act similar to Her Highness, and no one in the palace would be any the wiser.” 

“So why didn’t that happen—” She suddenly froze. Cecilla mentioned that the imbuement would take three days, didn’t she? T-then, when Xavier had disguised himself as Saintess Rasputina and woke the princess up on the second day, doesn’t that mean that… 

“…it’s actually MY FAULT?!”

Cecilla’s voice took on a wry tone. “Because Her Highness woke up prematurely, she still retained her previous world’s memories and speech. The Lord had to come up with contingency plans to resolve her ‘transmigration disease’ as a result, and He requested my help to carry out these plans.” 

The scene around Rasputina changed again. Bright sunlight suddenly filled her vision, forcing her to cover her eyes momentarily. The clopping of horse’s hooves against cobblestones penetrated the air. It was daytime, and she was standing along the capital’s main street facing a familiar-looking storefront. Its signage, which read ‘AETHERIUM BOOKSELLER & PUBLISHER’, was beautifully adorned with colourful banners. 

“Are you the bookseller?” Cecilla’s voice directed her wide-eyed gaze to the bookstore entrance. 

A large grey hooded cloak covered much of her body, rendering the palace maid almost unrecognisable to Rasputina. 

“Sure is, Missus. Are you from out of town?” The middle-aged bookseller touched his woollen flat cap on his head in a gesture of welcome. “We’re promoting Monsieur Charles’ latest work「A Tale of Two Cities」right now, may I interest you in it? Ten pennies for one copy.”

She shook her head. “I’m not here to buy a book, I’m afraid. I’m here to sell a book.”

“You’re selling a book?” the bookseller remarked in surprise. “Well, I don’t usually—”

“It’s a book that’s one of a kind,” Cecilla said. “A precious keepsake with a lot of sentimental value to me. I’m willing to let it go for three silvers. Please, consider it.”

The bookseller hesitated. “Can you show me the book?”

“It’s right here.” She handed him a book that Rasputina recognised with a start. It was the bilingual dictionary that Anastasia had found in the bookstore when they visited it together!

Intrigued, the bookseller read the title of the book aloud. “「After transmigration, I became a mob character in the supercalifragilisticexpialidocious world of smartphones and light novels! Since I was a princess in my former world, I decided to live my new life in peace as a commoner~」? Good gracious, Missus, what kind of book is this?”

“It is a very unique book, Sir,” she persuaded him. “You won’t regret owning this.”

“W-well…” The bookseller scratched his chin as he flipped through the book. “I’ve definitely not seen anything like this, I’ll give you that. Two silvers.”

“That’s a deal.” Cecilla took the two silver coins from the bookseller and handed him the book. “By the way, if someone ever wants to buy it in the future, please tell them that it’s not for sale, but you can lend it to them.”

“Um…sure, I will do that, Missus.”

The scene before her faded, and when Rasputina blinked, she realised that she was now standing on a train platform. A platform that looked identical to the one they had boarded the Orient Express from. 

The shrill sound of a whistle penetrated the cool morning air. “The train to Canterbury past Lancashire is leaving shortly! All aboard!” 

“Conductor, Conductor!” A panicked voice immediately attracted Rasputina’s attention. To her right, Cecilla was running up to the train conductor who was about to board the train—a Cecilla who was disguised as Nightingale, she noticed. 

“Please, stop! You can’t let this train leave this station yet!”

“Pardon?” He paused with a look of concern on his face. “What’s the matter, Miss?” 

“T-the man sitting beside me in the second-class carriage hasn’t returned,” she frantically said as she gasped for breath. “He left his suitcase behind, and it started making a ticking noise just now! I-It could be a bomb, Conductor!”

A bomb? Rasputina suddenly recalled what Machel had mentioned during his interrogation. 

The local train to Canterbury via Lancashire…it was supposed to depart at dawn on the 10th, but because a passenger reported a suspicious luggage left on board, the train did not leave Cetheri station until late morning.

“That’s right, Nightingale never mentioned anything about delaying the train to Canterbury…” she murmured. “So, it was you? But why? And why were you pretending to be Nightingale?” 

“I only did as I was instructed by the Lord,” Cecilla’s voice sounded from behind her. “Nightingale wouldn’t have been able to catch this train at Lancashire station to sabotage the signals at Canterbury, if not for this delay.” 

She jumped and snapped her body around—only to find herself back in her compartment. The maid was facing her again, her lips pressed in a straight, slightly amused line. 

“I hope that you weren’t too frightened by the dream visions I showed you,” she said, her lips twitching as if she was holding in a laugh. “I always wanted to try it out ever since the Lord taught me how.” 

“Huh…”

“Anyway, to answer your other question, the Lord transformed my body—much like what He did to yours—to appear as Florence Nightingale because I cannot risk anyone recognising me outside the palace. Wearing a cloak just makes me suspicious, you know?” she began to explain, apparently oblivious to the stunned look Rasputina gave her. “Pretending to be one of the Orient Express passengers also allows me to blend in seamlessly with everyone else and carry out the Lord’s plan at Canterbury successfully.” 

“What plan?” she started, then caught the exasperated look on Cecilla’s face. “Uh, wait, let me think…o-oh! Could it be that cathedral visit?”

The maid nodded her head in satisfaction. “With the delay caused by Nightingale’s sabotage, I was to bring Anastasia to the cathedral, where the Lord had prepared a nun to receive us and connect her consciousness to Ayrı Dünyalar. This way, the Lord is able to pass on not just Her Highness’ own memories, but the memories of all his descendents directly to her. But in order to not overload her mind with all the knowledge given, the Lord had sealed them in her subconsciousness such that her mind would only recall a particular knowledge when required.”

“So, that must be the reason behind Anastasia’s sudden ability to speak multiple languages and write…everything makes a little more sense now. Thanks, I guess.” Rasputina sighed a breath of wonder, then gave her a look. “There’s just one more thing that you haven’t explained, however…”

“And what might it be?”

“How—” she gestured her hand incredulously towards the maid “—are you, a dead body, communicating with me now??” 

“Why not?” Cecilla grinned. “I’m a ghost, after all.”