Ligia's footsteps echoed softly over the polished marble, like restrained sighs between the tall columns of the mansion.
Through the corridor window, she watched the gardens bathed in the golden glow of late afternoon: hedges trimmed with surgical precision, servants folding fabrics in the breeze, a small hunting dog chasing its own shadow.
It was all so serene… and unreachable.
As if the nobility of that world floated two inches above the ground, while she, reincarnated, confused, and tripping over protocols, dragged her feet trying to keep up.
As she turned the corridor leading to the library, fate played a trick on her.
Dorian.
Her brother, stepping out of the library with his usual elegance, dark hair in that classically "aristocratic mess" style, and that gaze that seemed to pierce through walls, thoughts… and maybe people.
Ligia's heart jumped.
Reflex of a survivor.
She spun on her heels, hiding behind the corner like a stray cat fleeing a purebred hound.
"Why are you living like cat and mouse, Ligia? Are you stupid"
"Clearly" purred a mocking voice beside her
"Shhh" she swatted the air, which, of course, passed right through the virtual cat without even ruffling a whisker
Ignoring the digital snark, she waited until Dorian's footsteps faded in the opposite corridor.
Only then, with a held breath like someone freed from a spell, did she enter the sanctuary of books.
And what a sanctuary.
The d'Argêntea House library was vast, vaulted, smelling of aged leather, ink, and ancestral dust.
Dark wooden shelves rose to the ceiling like knowledge ramparts.
Rolling ladders, deep armchairs with golden cushions, heavy curtains fluttering in the breeze from high windows.
Ligia's eyes sparkled.
"Wow… so many books… my reader soul just tingled" she murmured, nearly in a trance
She slipped discreetly from one shelf to the next, like a child in an amusement park.
Her fingers traced the spines, feeling the embossing of letters, the golden titles: treatises on magic, historical romances, compendiums of enchanted botany, even forbidden volumes locked behind arcane bars.
"The Fall of Solarys"
"Potions for Desperate Ladies"
"The Contract of Velmor: a mystical analysis"
Then she saw it—a volume bound in crimson velvet, edges slightly worn.
"The History of the Crimson Rose — Chronicles of House d'Argêntea"
"Ooh... precious find"
She carefully pulled the book free. The cover radiated a faint warmth.
When she opened it, a pressed rose fell from its pages—dry and ancient, like a fossilized memory of a family secret.
She sat on the divan near the window.
The System yawned theatrically.
"Hope it has pictures. I like to see ancient outfits"
She ignored it.
For the first time that day, she felt like maybe… she was beginning to piece together her own puzzle.
The weight of the book was comforting in her lap.
The velvet cover seemed to whisper secrets beneath her fingertips.
The golden light of sunset bathed the opening page.
"Chronicles of the Crimson Rose"
She took a deep breath and began to read:
"At the dawn of the First Solar Era, when the Empire was still a dusty idea in the throats of prophets, three figures ventured into the world with hands stained by blood, wine, and eternal promises."
"The first was Auren d'Argêntea, born of night and day. Son of a fallen noble and an exiled vampire from the Shadow Empire. Half human, half immortal predator. In his eyes, the longing of the moon. In his heart, the ambition of the sun. By his side walked Selya Caelthur, storm mage, and Solen Sun I, the man who would become the First Emperor."
A subtle shiver ran down her spine. And somehow, it made her more excited.
She saw it all—the half-vampire with violet eyes, the sorceress with hair like lightning, the man in golden armor.
The next page had an ancient illustration.
Auren held a blade of dark light, wrapped in crimson roses.
In the background, towers beneath twin moons. Ahead, a battlefield burning with violet fire.
Auren used his lineage like no other. While others hid, he forged night-blood into steel. Regeneration. Speed. Mastery of shadows. He decimated northern battalions and was named Guardian Count.
The crimson rose bloomed from the blood Auren spilled on a cursed hill. Since then, it only flowers under full moons. Like truths that only surface in darkness.
Ligia closed the book for a moment.
Her chest tightened as if the past were calling her name.
Her heart beat faster.
"I... am from his bloodline?"
The system appeared over her shoulder, purring sardonically.
"Well, well… descendant of a charming, ancient, murdering half-vampire. Now tell me—how did you trip twice on one staircase yesterday"
"Well..." she murmured, not sure whether to laugh or scream
She stood, holding the book as if it were her identity for the first time.
Auren d'Argêntea.
The half-vampire who shaped the Empire with his own blood.
The one who made the crimson rose bloom in cursed soil.
And she… was his descendant?
What a cosmic joke.
She closed the book gently, as if the gesture could contain the heat boiling in her chest.
Sank into the padded seat. Eyes fixed on the stained-glass window.
Dust danced in the air like sleepy fireflies.
"You knew my family's history?" she asked the holographic cat
It materialized on the armrest with its usual bored expression
"Of course. I'm connected to all historical records in this dimension. Congratulations on finding out just now, princess of medieval Google"
"Ugh..." she sighed, covering her face with a silk pillow, wishing she could bite the digital cat
The silence that followed was the thick kind. The kind that whispers truths.
That story wasn't just legend.
It was part of her blood now.
Part of the burden.
"You're living the continuation of a legend, Ligia..."
An inner voice whispered.
She told it to shut up immediately.
She rose slowly, as if waking from a dream.
Trying to distract herself, she moved toward the shelves.
Every step among the books was a whisper.
She ran her fingers along the spines, absorbing titles and textures.
Her lineage's history tasted like strong wine. Fascinating, but hard to swallow all at once.
The pages were silent, but her blood seemed to be reading from within now.
She needed a break. Or another truth.
She followed her instinct—or pure luck.
Her eyes landed on a nearly invisible title, squeezed between two military chronicles:
"The History of the People"
She raised an eyebrow.
"What a creative name"
"Wow, must be a box office hit" commented the cat, rolling his digital eyes
"Right, because knowing how the people live, think, and revolt is sooo uninteresting" she added
"Maybe that's why so many little nobles fall when the people finally smash the castle"
She rolled her eyes too.
Perfect sync.
Soulmates?
No.
Arch-enemies sharing the same mental processor? Maybe.
She brought the book to the table. Opened it with a mix of skepticism and curiosity.
The first pages spoke of harvest rituals, absurd taxes, and an old rebellion led by a baker who became a prophet.
"Hm… this might be interesting"
"After all… knowing who builds the castles is the first step to knowing who can tear them down"
She sat. Straightened her posture. Opened her mind.
If she was going to live in this world…
it was better to understand not only crests and castles
but also the calloused hands that held up the ground beneath her feet.