Ligia knew that life was mediocre, but dying crushed by a collapsing bookshelf on a Saturday afternoon was grotesquely poetic. She laughed. Or she thought she laughed. Maybe it was just her last breath escaping, with the taste of lukewarm coffee and bread crumbs.
She was alone, as always, in a small room in a university dormitory, surrounded by piles of old books, other people's dramas and dreams that only existed when insomnia overcame tiredness. The walls had more stories than her real life.
And she?... She was just a reader addicted to worlds where protagonists had destiny, suitors and... purpose.
She stared at the final page of her current obsession: "The Garden of the Seven Lovers".
'And with a stolen kiss under the red moon, Lady Arwen chose the path that would break seven hearts and save the world.'
Ligia closed the book slowly, sighing, "Of course... she saves the world and I..."
She couldn't finish her words.
The sound came.
A crack.
The dry snap of tired wood.
And then, a thud.
Everything went dark.
All she knew in the few seconds was that there was a gap in her pitch-black field of vision. Just a continuous whisper, as if the universe was asking an unanswered question.
And then, finally, the light.
With a soft murmur, she opened her blurry eyes with difficulty, blinking against the soft glow of crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling of... a bedroom?
Wait.
WHAT THE HELL...
Looking around in her limited vision, she was lying down. But not in her old single bed.
The bed was large and soft with white satin sheets, hand-embroidered pillows, and a canopy so delicate it seemed made of mist.
She was momentarily disoriented.
There was silence.
Of course... except for the distant sound of a harp playing something melancholy.
Ligia sat up suddenly. The world spun, but she forced herself to look around. In the corner, a full-length mirror watched her back.
She hesitated but stood up and walked towards it, each step making the velvet carpets sigh beneath her feet. When she finally stopped in front of the mirror... she didn't recognize her reflection.
The woman in front of her was ethereal, almost mythical.
Long, platinum hair fell like liquid silk to her waist. Her eyes...her eyes were an intense violet tone, almost uncomfortable in how vivid they seemed, like amethysts in the moonlight. Her skin was white, flawless. Her face had aristocratic features, cold as a Renaissance painting, but... there was pain there. Or perhaps it was just the echo of Ligia's mind trying to find some familiarity.
She touched her own face. "This isn't... my body."
The whisper fell like a confession.
[DING!]
A distant sound became present, adding chaos to the world that had already become chaotic.
Seeming to quickly approach, it rang out.
When the sound finally calmed down, a holographic screen projected itself in front of her:
[Prestige System Activated]
[ ●Registered User: Ligia d'Argêntea.
●Status: In disbelief of reality.
●Objective: Achieve your own ending ]
"What the hell?" Ligia staggered back a step. The mirror now seemed to be mocking her.
[You have received a mission]
["Recognize the new identity without freaking out"]
[●Reward: +1 Mental Stability.]
She gasped, messing up her hair.
"This is a joke…"
Her brain raced in panic, trying to sew logic where there was none.
After a while of dodging reality, it was finally coming to her.
Did she... die and end up inside a novel? Inside a game? A fantasy?
And most importantly: Who... is Ligia d'Argêntea?
[File under reconstruction]
[Please wait.]
[...]
She turned to the room, searching every detail now for a clue: the coat of arms embroidered on the curtains, a crimson rose in flames... An aristocratic and heavy symbol. She had read enough to know what it meant.
Villain or protagonist. Or both.
Ligia fell to her knees, not because she was weak.
But because the weight of reality, of dying as a nobody and waking up as someone, was perhaps brutal for her.
But then... she laughed. Low, hoarse, half-crazy.
Because if she were to be reborn with an idiotic system floating around... she would do it her way.
[Mission: "Recognize the new identity without freaking out"
[ ●Status: Completed]
[●Reward: +1 Mental Stability.]
She came to, hearing the door knock.
The golden doorknob jingled with a dry click.
The door creaked.
Ligia instinctively shrank under the satin sheets, as if nobility was contagious and she hadn't yet received the vaccines.
A man entered with the posture of someone who gave the impression of already condemning people with just a look. Tall, elegant and as impassive as an etiquette book.
"Have you woken up?..." he said, his tone polite, but the next words destroyed her mood "...After fainting pathetically in the middle of the tea room, at the behest of your own hysteria."
Ligia blinked.
"Hysteria?"
He didn't answer. He just held up a notebook as if it were a medical report and not a diary of scandals.
"I am Reinhardt Vael, the new personal butler assigned to supervise your conduct during... this period of seclusion." He said.
She arched an eyebrow.
"Seclusion?"
"By order of the Duke. You are forbidden to leave the estate for the next five days. No visitors. No balls... No more embarrassment."
Ligia felt the weight of the word "embarrassment" hit her harder than the death of her last favorite character in a novel.
"Of course. The old Ligia freaked out in public... and I woke up in her body in the post-chaos." She murmured.
Her mind, trained by years of literary clichés, quickly understood: this was the preventive punishment + adaptation period phase.
"And... the heroine? The prince? All the other characters in the chaos?" She continued talking to herself, frowning.
Vael frowned.
"If you mean the Prince and Princess, they're both... fine."
"Great," she muttered, burying her face in the pillow for three seconds before standing up with a sigh. "Okay, Ligia. Your previous self was a diplomatic disaster in high heels. And you've just fallen into a world with the subtlety of a fireball. Don't panic. Panic is for ill-informed commoners."
She stood up. Her legs were still shaking. She touched her lips thoughtfully.
[System Initialized.]
[New Mission]
["Survive the punishment, learn about the world, and avoid being burned as an emotional heretic." ]
Ligia took a deep breath. "Vael, since I can't leave, I need access to the library. And I'd like private lessons in etiquette and history."
Vael stared at her as if she'd suggested burning down the palace.
"Forgive me... what?"
"Either that, or I'll star in another scandal at the next festival. Choose which headache you prefer." She shrugged indifferently.
He thought about it then nodded.
"Very well, Your Excellency. The etiquette lesson starts tomorrow at dawn. And please try not to bite the tutor."
Ligia smiled "No promises. But... I'll try to be a good girl."
As he left, she whispered to herself, looking out the bedroom window "Let the reconstruction begin. A reformed character is the most dangerous weapon in fiction."