Alyss had never been more conscious of her body than she was now—particularly the fact that it was not hers.
She stood in front of the giant vanity mirror in her chambers, poking her cheeks with a pout.
"This is not me. This is some expensive porcelain doll with knees too smooth to belong to a real person," she muttered, turning left, then right.
The silky nightgown swished as she moved. Her hair, brushed and braided with ribbons by some overly enthusiastic maid, sparkled like the Duke himself had breathed gold dust on it.
"Ugh." She dropped face-first onto her giant bed. "This is a cursed form. A six-year-old boy trapped in a noble girl's fantasy body. What is this, a magical gender-bending plot twist?!"
She groaned into the pillow.
It's not like I hate it, she thought. But also—no one asked me if I wanted to be reincarnated into a story I barely finished reading!
The worst part? She was supposed to be the tragic heroine. The one who fell in love, got betrayed, and eventually died like a poetic flower.
"Not happening," Alyss whispered to the ceiling.
She sat up and began to pace.
"Okay. Okay. Plan A—escape. Maybe I'll run away and join a roaming merchant caravan. They always have goats. People trust you if you travel with goats."
There was a knock at the door.
"Milady, are you awake?" Clara's voice called gently. "The little prince is waiting to have breakfast with you in the garden."
Alyss froze. "Tell him I'm dead!" she yelled, then paused. "Wait no. Tell him I'm still… recovering from my forehead wound!"
A beat of silence. Then a muffled giggle from the other side.
"He said he'll wait, milady. He brought you a gift!"
"Damn it, Leonhardt," she muttered under her breath. "Why are you like this?"
He was too nice. Which was wrong. This was the same child who would grow up and burn down half the empire. Right? Right!?
"What if I'm the problem," Alyss whispered dramatically to her reflection. "What if by existing, I already broke the plot?"
Her reflection didn't answer, which was rude.
She slumped back onto the bed again. The ceiling was her only friend now.
Later That Day...
Alyss wandered into the garden under strict maid surveillance. Apparently, throwing oneself out of a window earned you a personal chaperone team.
Leonhardt was already there, poking at a pastry with a tiny silver fork.
"Good morning, future wife," he chirped brightly.
"Stop calling me that. It sounds like I got scammed into a wedding contract from an MLM cult," Alyss muttered, sitting across from him.
"What's MLM?" Leon asked innocently, tilting his head.
"It's—never mind. It doesn't exist yet."
Leon pushed a tiny box toward her. "I made this for you."
Inside was a shiny rock. Painted with glitter. It said: Magic Stone of Protection in childlike handwriting.
Alyss blinked. "Did you just invent placebo magic?"
"No! It's real," Leon said seriously. "I enchanted it with a spell. It might not work yet, but when I'm stronger, I'll make it real."
She stared at the rock, unsure if she wanted to laugh, cry, or adopt him.
Gods help me, she thought, holding back a smile. How do I escape when the villain keeps giving me glitter rocks and emotional support?