Isadora Gracia. 

That was my name in this life. The cursed second daughter of the count, Orlando Gracia. The sickly daughter, shunned by her own family and treated as if she were nothing more than a pestilence.

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I glanced around the spacious room with a detached air. It was clear that it belonged to a noble family of high status. The walls were painted in a pale cream colour, adorned with intricate gold trimmings. The large windows let in soft natural light, with heavy velvet drapes in a deep red hue framing them. The plush four-poster bed, draped in fine linens and topped with a canopy, dominated the centre of the room, while a comfortable armchair and a small writing desk were placed near the windows. In the corner of the room, stood a large vanity mirror with a gold frame. 

I dragged myself to the lavish vanity mirror, each step an effort as if I were wading through quicksand. The reflection of sickly pallor made me recoil, like a creature of the night recoiling from the light of the day.

My skin was a sickly white, like that of a ghost condemned to wander the earth for eternity. My long hair had been bleached to a colourless white, giving me the appearance of a lifeless doll. My eyes, once as grey as the storm clouds, now looked dull and listless, like those of a prisoner resigned to their fate. Dark circles hung beneath my eyes. I barely even looked seven. 

Compared to any other girl of my age, I looked nothing but a withered husk, a walking corpse, kept alive by some dark magic. Not that I've met any in this life, I reminded myself.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I looked at my surroundings. My eyes came to rest on the bed, adorned with velvet draperies and feather-stuffed pillows. It looked inviting at first, but upon closer inspection, I could see that the mattress was lumpy and the sheets were worn thin from repeated use. The room was filled with the trappings of wealth, yet it all felt hollow and empty. 

Just like me. 

The reality that bore down on me was bleak and unwelcoming, and as if to agree, the walls seemed to close in on me, daring me to find comfort, to find warmth. 

Darkness descended upon my thoughts like a flock of carrion birds, feasting on the remains of my shattered psyche.

Was this it then? Was this some kind of punishment for wanting to live a happy life? Sick amusement of a god? But perhaps the most troubling question was if this was something truly new to me. Sure, the situation here was a lot worse than in my previous life, but does that make any meaningful difference? 

The world around me seemed to spin faster and faster, until suddenly I felt lightheaded and the ground rushed up to meet me. And then, nothing.

***

I woke up to the sound of the bedroom door opening. My blurry eyes opened, just in time to make out the silhouette of a tall person holding a bucket over my head. Before I could say anything, the person dumped the entire bucket of icy cold water on me.

I gasped, the cold shocking my system. The maid didn’t flinch; she just stood there with a monotone look on her face. "Miss, your father has asked for your immediate presence," she stated, her voice emotionless. "The guests are to be arriving soon."

As I tried to sit up on the floor, I glared at her with a mixture of anger and disgust. This wasn't the first time she had done this to me, and it wouldn't be the last. I knew better than to voice my displeasure though, for the fear of consequences. 

Her dark eyes, for her part, bore into mine without a hint of sympathy. She held the bucket loosely in her hand, now empty of the water dripping from my wet dress and the dampness of the rug.

With a resigned sigh, I nodded and forced myself to stand up, ignoring the wetness of my clothes, or my limbs barely supporting me. As I passed the maid, I made sure to give her a withering glare, hoping she could feel my contempt. 

I grimaced halfway, my muscles further stiffening from the shock of the cold water. So I took a deep breath, steadied myself with the bedpost, and forced my stiff, protesting body to move. I reached for the towel. The towel itself was damp, barely useful for drying me off, but it was better than nothing. I dried myself as best as I could, trying to ignore the feeling of cold water seeping into my skin. The maid stood there, in the same position as before, unmoving and unfeeling, as if she was nothing more than a statue.

Ignoring the maid, I made my way towards the wardrobe, each step sending a jolt of pain through my stiffened muscles. I rummaged through my clothes and picked out a simple but elegant dress that would suit a tea party.

With one last deep breath, I turned to face the maid. “I’m ready,” I said, forcing my voice to sound firm.

She nodded curtly, her expression unchanged. "This way," she said, leading me out of the room and down the hallway towards the grand staircase.

Pixielady

Greetings~

Writing this chapter was a struggle, and I'm now completely sleep deprived. I also realised that I may not be the most creative person out there.

This is my first writing attempt, so I want to request that you go as hard as you can on me. Of course, criticism must be constructive. I'm looking forward to improving!~

Oh, yeah, I'd try to update every other day, since I want to get used to writing.