Chapter 4 Seri

Seri

The door opened fast.

A girl stepped in, holding a single candle. The flame flickered wildly from the movement, throwing shadows across the stone walls.

“Princess—!”

I flinched.

She hurried inside and shut the door behind her with her foot before the draft could snuff the flame. Then she crossed the room quickly, moving straight toward the bedside table.

She set the candle down and leaned over, lighting the one beside my bed. The small room brightened just enough to see more clearly. The soft gold light pooled over the blankets, catching on carved wood and old stone.

Then she turned to me.

She was younger than I expected. Maybe my age, or just a few years younger. Her skin was covered in freckles splattered across her cheeks, her nose, and down her arms. Her hair was a mess of tight brown curls, pulled back loosely but already escaping in soft strands around her face.

And she was… stunning.

Not in a polished, perfect way. In a real way. Warm. Bright. Like she belonged in sunlight, not a dim stone room.

“You’re awake,” she said, relief rushing into her voice as she stepped closer. “Oh, thank the gods.”

I pushed myself up again, ignoring the sharp pain in my chest.

“I need—”

She reached me in two quick steps and grabbed my arm before I could get any farther.

“No,” she said immediately. “You shouldn’t be moving.”

“I’m fine,” I said.

“You’re not.”

“I need to get up.”

“Why?”

My eyes locked onto the mirror across the room.

“I...um...I need to check something.”

She followed my gaze, then looked back at me, confused.

“Why do you need a mirror, Princess Nymora? You were shot in the chest. I promise your beauty has not been affected. Besides, the scar will only add to your warrior spirit.”

My stomach dropped.

Princess Nymora?

I forced my face to stay neutral.

“I… want to make sure,” I said.

Her brows pulled together. “You’re acting strange.”

Yeah. I know.

“I hit my head,” I said quickly. “I just want to make sure everything’s… okay.”

She hesitated, studying me.

The candlelight made her freckles stand out more, soft shadows catching in the curve of her cheekbones. Up close, her deep brown eyes were wider than anyone she'd ever seen.

“You were unconscious for two days,” she said. “You lost a lot of blood. You need to stay put.”

Two days.

“That would explain the confusion,” she added, almost convincing herself.

Yes. Let’s go with that.

“I just need the mirror,” I said.

She let out a small breath, like she wasn’t entirely convinced but didn’t have a better explanation.

“Fine. But you’re not leaving this bed.”

She crossed the room, picked up a smaller mirror from a nearby table, and brought it back. This time, she handed it to me more carefully, like she was watching for my reaction.

I took it.

My hands were shaking as I lifted the mirror slowly.

And then I saw her.

Not me.

Her.

My breath caught.

The face staring back at me wasn’t mine.

Her skin was pale and smooth with light freckles on her nose and cheeks. No scars. No deep tan. Nothing familiar.

Her hair fell in long, darke blonde waves around her shoulders.

My chest tightened.

Her eyes were the only thing similar to mine. A deep walnut brown. Almost black in the dim candlelight.

I stared at them.

They stared back.

This isn’t real. Maybe I'm dreaming.

But the pain told me another story.

I shifted the mirror slightly.

She moved with me.

No. No, no, no.

I lifted my hand and touched my face.

Same movement. Same timing.

“This has got to be a sick joke,” I muttered.

“What?” the girl asked.

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

I got shot. I was bleeding out. I should be dead.

Instead, I was here. In someone else’s body.

“Do you not recognize yourself?” she asked carefully.

I lowered the mirror just enough to look at her.

“I… look different,” I said.

“That tends to happen after nearly dying,” she said.

That is not what this is.

I looked back at the mirror.

The woman—Nymora—looked calm. Like she belonged here.

But I didn’t.

“Princess,” she said, her voice softer now, more cautious. “You’re worrying me.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I hit my head. It must have made me more confused than I thought.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“You remember who you are, don’t you?”

My heart started pounding.

Careful.

I paused just long enough.

“Of course I do,” I said.

“And you remember what happened?”

I nodded.

“Yes. It's just a little blurry.”

Her eyes searched mine.

Please stop doing that.

“Then why are you acting like this?” she asked.

Because I’m not her.

“Because I was shot,” I said, a little sharper than I meant to.

She blinked.

Then something in her expression shifted. Not just concern anymore.

Worry.

I softened my tone.

“I’m just… shaken,” I added.

She exhaled slowly.

“All right,” she said. “I can call for the healer.”

“No,” I said quickly.

“Your bandages should be looked at. They will need changing soon.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

We stared at each other.

I looked away first.

“Just give me a minute,” I said. “Please.”

She hesitated.

Then nodded.

“One minute,” she said. “And then I’m getting help.”

She stepped back but stayed in the room, close enough to watch me.

I lifted the mirror again.

Studied every detail.

The unfamiliar face. The unfamiliar eyes.

If I’m her…

My grip tightened.

Then where am I?

A worse thought hit right after.

And what happened to the real Princess Nymora?

Silence stretched between us for a few seconds.

Then, more gently, she spoke again.

“Are you… hungry?” she asked.

I glanced up, and my stomach grumbled in response.

“If you are, I can have something prepared,” she added. “Something soft. Easy.”

Food.

The word felt strange. Distant.

But then my stomach twisted again, sharp and sudden.

Right.

I hadn’t eaten in two days.

I looked back at her.

She was still watching me with that incredibly worried look on her face. Still calling me someone I wasn’t.

“…Maybe,” I said.

She gave a small nod, like that was something she could actually fix.

“Good,” she said. “I’ll bring something.”