She thought of her sister.
Eileen’s eyes were always watery, and she had that clumsy way of tripping into her arms while running. She even had the little habit of squeezing into her blankets before bed…
She bit her lip, and her chest began to swell with emotion. That pain seemed to remind her that she was drifting away from that world, bit by bit.
The image of her sister lying in bed surfaced in her mind again—an image both fragile and real.
In the vision, Lin Yue’s right hand gripped her own.
“Brother, it’s okay. That flower is too hard to get. Don’t risk yourself for me. You still have a wonderful future ahead of you.”
She could almost see the tear her sister was struggling to hold back.
She didn’t know how her sister was doing now, whether the brothers had succeeded in bringing back the demon heart flower, or if her sister’s condition had improved. ‘If her illness gets a bit better and she finds out I haven’t returned, will she cry her eyes out and lose all hope?’
‘Will she search for me with everything she has?’
She then thought of the brothers who had faced life and death with her. She thought of how they used to call out, “Brother Wen! Hurry, hurry!” She thought of how they fought together, drank together, and laughed together.
“It’s nothing. We’ll go with you. We’re brothers, so what is there to fear?”
“If we didn’t help with this, it would be too heartless. After all, you’re our Brother Wen.”
Those voices, those palms, those retreating figures—all of them were vivid in her mind, yet they felt like they were separated by an entire world.
A world she could never return to.
Suddenly, her throat felt tight, and a sting pricked her eyes.
She raised her hand and pressed firmly against the corners of her eyes, refusing to let that bitterness escape.
“I… I cannot stay here.”
She spoke very softly, yet with more determination than ever before.
But how was she supposed to get out?
She leaned against the headboard, slowly organizing her thoughts, forcing her chaotic mind to calm down piece by piece.
She couldn’t be impulsive.
She couldn’t let her emotions lead her by the nose like they had just moments ago.
Otherwise, she wouldn’t even be able to walk out the door.
She had to escape, but she needed a plan.
There were several known difficulties right now.
First, Ilya’s power was completely beyond her comprehension. That kind of suppression that required no movement, not even contact… she hadn’t even had time to form the thought of a counterattack.
Second, she didn’t know where this castle was or what its layout was like. She didn’t even know which floor or wing she was currently in.
Third, her body was unstable. She didn’t know what she looked like now or if she could use mana.
These realities made her anxious, yet they also forced her to settle.
She couldn’t escape right now.
That would just be seeking death.
Flora raised her hand to her forehead and let out a long breath, allowing the pressure in her chest to dissipate slightly.
“No… I need to know more first.”
She began to analyze the information she needed piece by piece.
‘First is the structure of the palace.’
She needed to secretly observe the hallways and room layouts when she walked around. Where was the main hall? Where were the windows? Where were the side doors?
‘Second is the guard patrols.’
When did they change shifts? Which paths had guards? Which areas had fewer people?
‘Third is Ilya’s habits.’
When was she least likely to be watching her?
‘Finally, my current physical condition.’
‘Do I have mana now? What is the state of this body?’
After finishing her analysis, she whispered, “…I need at least a few days to prepare.”
And during these few days, she couldn’t make a scene, she couldn’t scream, and she couldn’t provoke Ilya any further.
Otherwise, she would only be locked up tighter, making it even harder to escape.
Therefore, she had to feign submission.
‘Submit a little…’
She bit her lip, her gaze gradually becoming clearer as if making a final decision for herself.
‘Once I’m ready… I’ll run.’
‘I will definitely leave this place.’
“But regardless, I should rest first. I can only face everything with sufficient energy.”
Flora lay back steadily on the bed and pulled up the covers.
“I have to say, this bed feels quite comfortable,” she murmured to herself.
***
The morning light filtered through the heavy velvet curtains, cutting several hazy pillars of light into the air. When Flora woke up, she was dazed for a moment, unsure of where she was.
The bed beneath her was incredibly soft, like sleeping in the clouds, worlds apart from the bed in her memories.
But this comfort only made her alert.
She immediately sat up, and her strange long hair slid over her shoulders, possessing a soft texture that annoyed her. Her resolve from last night returned the moment she was fully awake.
Feign submission, observe, and wait for the opportunity.
There was a soft knock on the door, and before she could respond, it was pushed open quietly.
Two maids dressed in plain gray dresses walked in with lowered eyes, carrying clothes and grooming supplies. Their movements were light and slow, like well-trained shadows, as they bowed silently.
“Your Highness, please let us dress you.” The leading maid’s voice was thin, but it carried a sense of an unquestionable routine.
Flora pursed her lips and swallowed the “no need” that had reached her tongue. She remembered her self-warning from last night: submit a little.
She stood like a puppet, allowing the maids to strip off her nightgown. The slightly cool air touched her skin, triggering a small shiver.
Then, she was dressed in layer after layer of clothing that didn’t belong to her, but also didn’t belong to “her.”
A silky chemise, a corset that used gentle but effective force to outline the slender curves she didn’t want to face, and finally, the main dress made of crisp fabric and embroidered with dark magic patterns.
Every lace and every button was meticulously arranged.
Throughout the process, Flora kept her body stiff, staring blankly at the gap in the curtains.
She could smell the faint scent of soap on the maids and feel the slight chill when their fingertips occasionally brushed against her skin.
This all-encompassing service made her feel entirely uneasy, as if even the most basic autonomy of getting dressed had been stripped away.
Next, she was led to sit at the dressing table. The large mirror once again reflected that unfamiliar young girl.
Dressed in magnificent clothes, that face appeared even more pale and exquisite, looking unlike a real person.
The maid picked up a comb, smoothing out her long, dreamlike gradient hair.
“Your Highness, please look up.”
The maid picked up a small box of floral-scented ointment and dipped her fingertip in it, preparing to apply it to her. Flora instinctively turned her head away.
“Your Highness,” the maid’s voice remained respectful, but she paused in place, “this is only to moisturize your skin. The appearance of the demon race royalty…”
Flora saw her own resistant eyes in the mirror, meeting the maid’s calm but persistent gaze. She took a deep breath, forced herself to relax, and slowly turned her face back, closing her eyes.
The cool ointment was dabbed onto her cheeks and forehead, then gently spread evenly. Finally, a light, honey-colored salve was applied to her lips.
When she opened her eyes again, the girl in the mirror looked a bit more vibrant, revealing a pure and noble beauty. Her pale gold eyes, under the exquisite makeup, looked as if stardust had fallen into them.
She looked at the person in the mirror, and the person in the mirror looked back at her quietly.
‘This is not me.’
She repeated this phrase in her heart, but this time, she did not say it out loud. She just watched in silence, deadening all her surging emotions beneath that carefully groomed, calm face.
“It is finished, Your Highness.” The maid stepped back and bowed respectfully.
Flora stood up slowly, her trailing hem resembling the flowing night. She felt the weight of her hair, the subtle restraint of the clothes on her movements, and the faint layer of ointment on her lips.
She tried taking a few steps. Her gait was slightly awkward because of the hem and her unfamiliar body, but her back remained pin-straight.
“Where is Ilya… Her Majesty?” she asked, her voice very calm.
“Her Majesty is waiting in the dining room to have breakfast with you,” the maid replied.
“Lead the way,” Flora said.
She followed behind the maid, walking out of the room and stepping into the long corridor covered with a dark carpet.
She kept her eyes lowered, appearing submissive, but in reality, she was using her peripheral vision to quickly scan both sides—memorizing the positions of corners and windows, noting the frequency of the patrolling guards in the distance.
With every step, she felt as if she were dancing on the edge of a blade.
She wore the appearance of the enemy, dressed in the clothes of the enemy, to go see the person who had turned her into what she was now.
And the only thought in her mind was to remember everything. Remember this path, remember these guards. Then, find the way out.