Steam still clung to the bathroom mirror as Ligia emerged, skin damp and body wrapped only in a fluffy white towel. Her bare feet made soft sounds on the cold floor, and her platinum hair dripped down her back like living silk, still releasing warm droplets.
She walked to the three-door wardrobe, carved in dark silver that reflected the soft glow of the enchanted lamps scattered throughout the room. With a touch, the doors opened with a light click, revealing the newly ordered clothes: dresses, sharply tailored jackets, soft casualwear like breeze-woven fabrics — and lingerie with the bold flair typical of a stylistic system that openly ignored the word "modest."
Ligia smiled.
"Living in a magical world has its perks" she murmured, running her hand over an enchanted linen that adjusted to body temperature. "In my old life, this would've taken months"
She surveyed the options until pulling out one particular hanger.
It was a dress.
White, with scarlet detailing. The neckline was exact — elegant, suggestive without being vulgar. The long sleeves draped her arms like dancing mist. The waist, cinched precisely. The skirt, fluid, stopped at the knees with near-ethereal lightness.
Beside it rested the accessories:
A necklace with a crimson rose carved in crystal, the stem etched in aged silver.
Ruby earrings, small and intense like drops of solid blood.
And deep scarlet heels, thin straps crisscrossing over the feet, clasped by enchanted petals.
Ligia sighed softly.
"No medieval corsets today..."
She dressed calmly.
Dried her hair with the enchanted towel that preserved its shine. Slipped on the enchanted undergarments, which molded to her like a second skin.
The dress slid over her body like a memory. The zipper rose on its own, with a ceremonial click.
In front of the mirror, she applied black rose and amber oil to her skin. She wore no makeup.
It wasn't needed.
She fastened the necklace. The rose settled over her chest like a silent signature.
She brushed her hair with the enchanted brush, tying it into a high, tight ponytail. A few loose strands softened her features.
Her hair shimmered in the light.
She slipped on the heels.
First step: strange.
Second: steady.
Third: stage-worthy.
She looked in the mirror.
"Looks like... I'm finally me"
For the first time since arriving in that world, she wasn't dressing for protocol.
It was a choice. A voice.
Knock knock
A knock at the door.
"Miss?" said a maid in a gentle voice. "Breakfast has been served... and the Duchess asked to see you in the southern gardens before noon"
Ligia smiled. A short smile, but full of conviction.
"Tell her I'm on my way"
She picked up a thin ring with a black stone and slipped it onto her middle finger.
She left the room with confident steps.
Through the corridors, her heels echoed. Rhythmic.
Delicate, but determined.
The windows spilled warm beams of light. The stained glass colored the floor.
And in her wake... glances.
Maids in small groups stifled giggles and whispers.
"That's the dress..."
"I've never seen a cut like that... looks like something from a play"
"And the heels? That's not noblewoman attire..."
"She looks like a drunk eastern mage going to a peasant festival..."
Ligia heard.
Every word.
Every whisper.
Every gaze dressed in judgment.
And she kept walking.
Didn't glance away.
Didn't falter.
Let them talk.
Let them whisper.
Let them be bothered.
The heel carried on.
Slicing through doubt like a polished blade.
At the end of the corridor, the light grew.
The gallery opened into wide windows revealing the Southern Gardens.
There, among well-tended rose bushes and stone benches with pale cushions, was her mother.
Seated under a trellis covered in flowering vines, she sipped tea with serenity.
Her black dress was simple and impeccable. Her hair held by onyx pins.
Sensing her daughter's presence, Selène lifted her gaze.
For a moment, just one, her eyes glowed with genuine warmth.
"I see you've decided... to bloom in your own way" she said with a faint smile, observing the modern dress, the firm posture, the defiant ponytail.
Ligia touched the rose on her necklace.
"I'm dressing how I feel. For the first time in a long while"
Selène set her cup on the saucer with grace.
"The maids are talking"
"Let them talk" Ligia replied, sitting smoothly. She crossed her legs. Elegant.
"And if the Houses talk?"
"Let them listen"
The garden held its breath.
Selène smiled. A discreet smile, brimming with pride.
"The rose has learned to show her thorns"
Ligia smiled back.
"You didn't want an obedient heir. You wanted a strong one, remember?"
The Duchess nodded.
"And you're beginning to look exactly like what the Empire isn't ready to swallow"
Ligia raised her chin. Her eyes locked onto her mother's.
"Then let it choke"
Selène laughed. A fuller, livelier laugh.
And in the background, among the roses, the silence bowed.